


taking the last train home

by godcomplexfics (godtiercomplex)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alfred is a Brat, Fade to Black, M/M, Minor America/France (Hetalia), Minor Canada/Netherlands (Hetalia), Minor England/France (Hetalia), One-Sided England/France (Hetalia), Slow Burn, There are more parings/characters who will appear! As such tags are subject to change, Yao is Tired
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-24 07:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9712064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godtiercomplex/pseuds/godcomplexfics
Summary: Alfred's struggle to keep his family together after a tragic accident leads him to consider routes he never would've taken before. Things are starting to look up for them thanks to support from Francis when Alfred meets Yao, Francis's close friend at a popular club.Although Alfred tries to deny his growing interest in Yao, he finds that they keep coming back to one another.





	1. encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted due to Ao3 mishaps. Originally posted May 25th, 2016.

“Does this make me look fat?” Alfred asks his twin brother, Matthew, who barely looks away from the TV to glance at his outfit.

“Alfred, you’ve changed clothes like… three times already. Isn’t Francis supposed to be here at 5:45?”

“What time is it?”

Matthew pauses the TV to consult the time. “5:43.”

“Matty, do I look fat or what?”

“Al, you look buff. That’s not the same thing as fat.” Matthew unpauses the TV, and there’s a knock on the door, “And that’d be your ‘Daddy’.”

“...never call him that again.”

“Stop asking me to look at your butt in jeans then!” Matthew settles back on the couch and watches the hockey game. The Blues are winning, and Matthew looks mad.

“Some help you are,” Alfred mutters, and then goes to the door. He’s nervous, but that’s nothing new. He’s able to muster up courage and open the door to a smiling Francis.

“Ready?” Francis asks, and he holds out a hand to Alfred.

Alfred takes it. “Ready.”

* * *

 

Francis takes him to his club. He’s never been before and he had wanted to look his best, but Francis barely glances at his clothes before ushering him into the back of his Cadillac. He has a driver for the night, which means that he plans on drinking. Which is fine by Alfred, for the most part. The reasons why he doesn’t like Francis drinking had little to do with Francis, and more to do with him.

“Wear this,” Francis says when they’re on the front steps leading up to the club. He’s holding out a black jewelry box. Alfred glances at the box and takes it. He opens it up and inside is a leather bracelet with a silver buckle.

“What’s this for?” Alfred fastens it around his left wrist. Francis adjusts it, and then slides the box it came from back into his pocket.

“A symbol,” Francis says. “Now, shall we?”

“Yeah, all right,” Alfred says. “We shall.”

The club is as imagined, which means a lot of men and their dates (which Alfred supposes he’s Francis’s) and a lot of alcohol flowing and smoke in the air. They’ve only had their arrangement for less than a month now, and he honestly wasn’t expecting to be ushered and welcomed into this part of Francis’s life so soon. The man must really want to show him off, which leaves Alfred with a warm feeling in his stomach. The one glass of wine he’s allowed himself is also doing that for him. The servers going from table to table, group of people to people, hadn’t even bothered to ask for his ID. Alfred has lucked out.

But, he only drinks the one glass. Nurses it really.

He talks with beautiful people in beautiful designer clothes, and feels like he’s sticking out like a sore thumb. His jeans are new and so is his shirt. Francis had picked them out — said something about the blue button down being an exact match for his eyes. Alfred had doubted him at the time, but whatever. People ask him his name, and he just smiles and says, “Al,” and they try to guess what it’s short for. No one ever guesses _Alfred._

“Alfred,” and there’s Francis with his hands on Alfred’s waist, and his voice low in Alfred’s ear. “Alfred, come and meet my friend.”

So he excuses himself, and lets Francis pull him away to a little private corner of the club. There’s two armchairs, and a table between them. He notices the hand on the table first. There’s a silver ring that looks like a dragon on the ring finger, and the nails don’t look like the hands that he’s been shaking all night. They look used. Alfred doesn’t know why that catches his attention.

“Mr. Wang, this is Alfred Jones. He prefers to be called _Al_ but I think Alfred is a perfectly lovely name, don’t you?” Francis still has an arm wrapped around his waist. Alfred looks properly at Mr. Wang who sets down his glass and looks up at him.

The other man doesn’t stand up, but looks Alfred up and down for a short moment that leaves Alfred cold. “Yes, Alfred is a perfectly respectable name. But maybe your young man doesn’t want to be respectable, Mr. Bonnefoy?”

“Do you not want to be respectable, Alfred?” Francis directs the question at him, and Alfred shrugs.

“Doesn’t everyone want to be?” Alfred asks. He doesn’t know why he feels like fidgeting until Mr. Wang turns his attention back to his wine glass.

“That’s true,” Francis lets go of him and leans against the unoccupied armchair, “I wanted you to meet Mr. Wang due to your common love of journalism.”

“Oh?” Alfred asks, “You’re into that, Mr. Wang?”

“I’m ‘into’ a rather lot of things, Mr. Jones,” Mr. Wang says, “Is that what you’re studying?”

“Um, yeah actually. It’s my major. How did you know I was a student?”

Mr. Wang turns back to look at him, and his smile is slight as he says, “You have the look.” Alfred almost comments on Mr. Wang’s look (long black hair caught up in a ponytail, tailored russet suit) but holds his tongue.

Francis laughs, “I told him.”

“That too,” Mr. Wang aims a smile towards Francis, and this one is warm. Alfred doesn’t know why that bothers him but it does. “How far along in your studies are you, Mr. Jones?”

“Pretty far, Mr. Wang, I’m going to graduate next spring.”

“Which college are you attending?”

Alfred tells him, and Mr. Wang smiles slightly. Alfred wonders if that means he approves, and then wonders why he _cares_. Francis’s good opinion is the only one he needs to worry about. Yet, Mr. Wang is one of Francis’s friends — and a good friend it seems, even if they are on last name basis. Which is weird — but maybe it’s a respect thing?

Someone calls for Francis and he stops leaning against the armchair, “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you have a seat, Alfred, and talk some more with Wang?” He touches Alfred’s shoulder and drops a kiss against his lips. “Be a good boy for me,” he whispers, and then he’s gone.

Alfred stands for a moment, cheeks flushed slightly, before he inhales-exhales and takes Francis’s discarded seat. A server makes her way over to them, and offers to refill Mr. Wang’s glass and fetch Alfred a glass. Alfred declines, and Mr. Wang settles back with his fresher glass.

“How did you and Bonnefoy meet, Mr. Jones?”

“Around town,” Alfred lies easily. They had met on a certain website that Alfred had signed up for when he had no other options. He had lucked out that Francis had took notice of him, honestly.

Mr. Wang just looks at him over his wine glass. “That’s not what Bonnefoy said.”

Alfred feels annoyance creep up on him as he looks at Mr. Wang. What had Francis said to him? He is known to gossip a bit when he’s been drinking.

“What did Francis say?”

Mr. Wang smiles a bit, “A rather lot. So, journalism. You don’t look the type, I’ll be honest.”

“I get told that a lot,” Alfred says, “But I really do love it.”

“You also don’t look the type to be using men for money, but, well I guess looks are deceiving.”

There it is, huh? All out in the open like that. Alfred crosses his ankles and leans back in the armchair. “You don’t approve of me,” he says flatly.

“It doesn’t matter if I do or not. Won’t stop Francis from this path he’s on.” Mr. Wang stands up and sets his glass down. He looks down at Alfred, and Al realizes his eyes are brown, not black. “Please do right by my friend. That’s all I ask.”

“I’m trying my best,” Alfred says, fingers digging into his palms. Mr. Wang hmms, and then walks away without another word. Alfred sits there for a long moment, and then goes to find Francis.

* * *

 

In the car, Francis keeps mouthing at Alfred’s jaw, and telling him how lovely and perfect he is. He’s had a bit much to drink, and Alfred knows for all of his enthusiasm now, he will be out like a light when they reach his place. And then Alfred will have to undress him and tuck him into bed before taking the last train home to his shared apartment with Matthew. But for now, he enjoys the kisses, and kisses back, trying to banish all thoughts of Mr. Wang and his judgements from his mind.

Alfred likes to think he’s successful. 


	2. conversations

Francis invites Alfred back to his club the next week. 

“They loved you,” he says. 

“They think I’m a gold digger,” Alfred says. Francis looks at him over his coffee mug, and laughs. They’re eating breakfast at Francis’s place since Alfred spent the night for once. Alfred shoves a pancake into his mouth to keep from scowling at Francis’s laughter. 

“And yet, they loved you anyway.” Francis sets down his mug, and goes to undo the ponytail that’s holding his hair back. Alfred stops him with a touch of his bare foot to Francis’s ankle. He likes it when Francis wears a ponytail. Francis smiles at him. “Come now, come back to the club. You’ll meet some really important people there — people who are shaping the world as we know it. Connections like that are important for someone like yourself.”

Alfred sighs, “I’ll think about it.” 

* * *

 

There’s nothing really to think about. Francis asked it, and so Alfred will go. That’s the deal between them after all. 

He’s sitting in his apartment’s kitchen arranging payments for his monthly bills later that night when Matthew stumbles into the kitchen and digs around in the fridge for a beer. 

“How’s the sugar babying business going?” Matthew asks. Alfred knows his brother is just teasing him, but his eyes land on that insane amount of a deposit he just made this morning and he frowns. Francis had written out the check after breakfast, signed his name, and then told Alfred not to miss the morning train to school. “How’s Francis treating you?” 

“He’s treating me well. He wants me to go play nice with his friends again,” Alfred says. 

“Will you go?” 

“It’d make him happy.” 

“But would it make you happy?” Matthew looks seriously at him, and Alfred sighs. 

Before he can formulate a reply to that loaded question, he remembers Mr. Wang’s words to him the other night. That request that he do right by Francis, as if that’s not what he wants to do. The man has saved him, allowed him to keep his apartment and stay together with Matthew. That’s all he’s ever wanted. 

“It would make me happy,” he says. “Francis’s happiness is my happiness. So I’ll go.” 

“Sounds like you really like the guy,” Matthew says, and he looks relieved. 

“Did you think he’d be a troll?” 

“I didn’t know what to think when you told me you’d gotten a ‘supporter’. But I’m glad he makes you happy at least.” 

“That he does,” Alfred says. The extra thousands sitting pretty in his bank account makes him happy as well. 

* * *

 

Francis picks him up Friday night and they go to the club. Alfred likes dance clubs more than this kind of club, but he can get used to it — he will get used to it. He might be young, but even he can tell that this is where the real deals in D.C. happen. 

Francis is a businessman who has a company with interests in France, the UK, and America. He has a grumpy partner who he only refers to as a complete disaster, and he seems to be really taken with Alfred after the month they’ve spent together. Alfred can really see himself falling for Francis, and that is a dangerous and scary thought to go towards. Francis is just his supporter, and will be until Alfred graduates. That’s their deal, written in writing and sealed with a kiss. 

So Alfred is charming. He’s the perfect accessory to Francis’s wheeling and dealing. He jokes around with the men and women equally, and Francis looks so proud of him. That makes it worth it for Alfred. That look of pride on Francis’s face. 

Francis takes him into a corner and kisses him breathless before saying, “I have to go to a private meeting for about an hour. You can keep yourself entertained for that long, right?” 

“Yeah, I can just talk with some of the others,” Alfred twists the leather bracelet on his wrist, and Francis smiles at him. 

“Good boy,” he says. “Take care. I’ll return shortly.” 

Alfred lets Francis lead him to the bar, and then watches as his lover slips off with some of the other businessmen. He orders a vodka cranberry and nurses it as he people watches. It’s edging past eleven and the club seems to be shifting in tone. More and more people are slipping off into private rooms, and more and more people are breaking off into pairs and trios to talk. 

He’s so focused on his observations that he doesn’t notice Mr. Wang slipping onto the stool next to him until he hears his voice ordering a mojito. Mr. Wang’s brown hair is caught up in a bun, and he’s not in a suit this evening. His clothes still scream expensive, but in an understated way. He looks like he attempted to dress down, but he’s still wearing slacks and a button down. 

“Good evening, Mr. Jones.” Mr. Wang’s voice sounds amused when Alfred realizes he’s been staring at the man for far too long. 

“Evening, Mr. Wang. You know you can just call me Al. Everyone else does.” 

“I could, huh?” Mr. Wang says, and Alfred is going to find out his first name if it  _ kills  _ him. “It’s Alfred, correct? I could never shorten such a lovely name.” 

Alfred doesn’t know what to say to that, but he’s saved from having to reply by the bartender asking if he wants a refill. He declines, and the bartender moves on. 

“Where is Bonnefoy?” Mr. Wang asks. “I haven’t seen him yet this evening.” 

“He’s with some people,” Alfred says vaguely, because that’s all he does know. 

“And left you all alone? You must be bored.” 

“No, not really,” Alfred says. He looks around the room again so he can stop looking at Mr. Wang and wondering if he’s wearing eyeliner. He wouldn’t be, right? There’s no reason for that. “There’s plenty of interesting people to talk with here.” 

“Like myself?” 

Alfred looks at him, and takes a sip of his drink, and lets a pause form between them, until he says, “You’re all right.” 

That seems to startle a laugh out of Mr. Wang. Alfred chalks that up as a mini victory. If the man is determined to judge him, then Alfred will show him that he’s not a bad person. He’s not out to hurt Francis, even if their relationship is based on money. He actually does care for the other blond. 

“Well, I’m glad you find me tolerable.” 

“Surprised you care if a gold digger finds you likeable or not.” 

Mr. Wang looks at him, brown eyes alive with some emotion that Alfred can’t put his finger on. “I never called you that.” 

“Oh, but you most certainly implied it.” 

Mr. Wang considers this. “I did, didn’t I?” At least he can admit to his mistakes. If Alfred wants to consider that an admission. “Well you must admit that your… arrangement with Francis paints its own picture.”  

“And how much do you know about our arrangement to pass judgement?” 

Mr. Wang tilts his glass towards Alfred and says, “I know he’s paying you for your time and company. Helping sponsor you during your final year at school.” 

“He told you that?” 

“He wanted me to give you some advice if I could, and he might have rambled on a bit more than he wanted.” 

Alfred frowns and sips his vodka cranberry. It tastes far more sour than it should, so he sets it aside. “It’s not a big deal. People do this sort of thing all the time.” 

“You’d be correct,” Mr. Wang looks around the room. “About half the women and some men here are paid a rather lot to be arm candy.” 

“Yeah, I figured.” Alfred hadn’t figured, and now he wishes that he had. He still isn’t even sure what the name of the club he’s found himself  _ is _ , just that it’s a club, and Francis is a welcomed member and that means that Alfred is too. Mr. Wang is as well, if his attitude is any indicator. He adjusts his collar, and Mr. Wang notices the bracelet around his wrist. 

“What’s that?” he asks. “Did Bonnefoy give that to you?” 

Alfred holds out his wrist and looks at the brown leather. “Yeah.” 

“Mhm,” Mr. Wang says, and just that. 

“What’s that mean?” 

“What does what mean?” 

“That… ‘mhm’ you did.”

“Nothing,” Mr. Wang says. “Nothing at all.” 

Alfred doesn’t believe him, but Mr. Wang asks him about what type of journalism he’s into. Alfred can tell he’s trying to distract him, but Francis told him to be good, so he goes along with it. 

“Investigative.” 

“I do that myself back home.” 

“Where’s home?” Alfred asks.

“Where isn’t home?” Mr. Wang replies. 

Alfred makes a noise, and then sighs. He really shouldn’t expect anything else from Mr. Wang. Mr. Wang has an accent. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, but Alfred can’t help but notice it. Being around Francis has him picking up on those things more and more lately. Francis’s accent is very stereotypically French, but Alfred can’t quite place Mr. Wang’s. He wants to say China must be his homeland, but there’s a slight stress over some words that makes him think of the UK. 

“Come now,” Mr. Wang says, which is just such a Brit thing to say that Alfred smiles just a bit. “Why investigative writing?” 

“Why not investigative writing?” 

Mr. Wang finishes his drink and sets down his glass. “That’s a non answer. You’ll do good as a journalist, I’m sure.” 

“Thanks, I really did need your approval.” 

“Quite a mouth you have,” Mr. Wang says. Alfred starts to apologize, and Mr. Wang flashes him a smile. “I suppose Bonnefoy must like that about you.” 

“You say that like you don’t.” 

“That’s implying that I  _ like _ you, Mr. Jones. Awfully bold of you.” 

Alfred just shakes his head and smirks, “You’ll grow to like me. Nearly everyone does.” 

“Bold words.” 

“It’s the truth,” Alfred says. “You seem like a man who likes the truth.” 

Mr. Wang smiles and taps on the bar for the bartender’s attention. “That’s your judgement of me, then?” 

“You’ve made yours of me, so I’m just returning the favor.” 

Mr. Wang requests a refill, and then pulls out his phone. “Yao Wang,” he says. “Google me.” 

* * *

 

“‘Google me’,” Matthew says when he finishes telling him the story. Alfred is on his stomach eating chocolate chip ice cream out of the tub while Matthew clips his toenails onto the carpet. Every other mouthful he’ll hold out to Matthew, who eats it in one gulp. It’s their system. “Did you Google him?” 

“Of course not! He left right after he got his drink and then Francis came back, and then I had to see him home, and ugh. Should I?” 

“Alfred Franklin Jones, how did you  _ not  _ Google him before now?” 

“My middle name isn’t fucking Franklin. Also he’s an asshole and I didn’t want to give him the honor of wasting my time.” 

Matthew puts down the clippers, leans forward and eats the ice cream Alfred holds out to him, and then gets his phone. 

“Matthew, do not.”

“I have got to see this asshole myself.” 

Alfred groans and tucks into his ice cream as Matthew silently reads his screen. 

“Oh,” Matthew says. “Alfred, are you this dumb?”

“Care to repeat that, brother of mine?” 

“This is Yao Wang! He did that one piece on Canada that Mom really liked. The one about the Indigenous population? And he’s done a lot of other stuff. He’s won quite a few awards.” 

“Are you on his wiki page? Please tell me he doesn’t have a wiki page.” 

“He has a wiki page.” 

“Motherfucker.” 

“He’s actually kind of cute? Why don’t you like him again?”

“Because he thinks I’m out to rob Francis? And he’s totally judging me for being a sugar baby?” 

“Alfred, I judge you for being a sugar baby. And having a ‘Daddy’. Or would it be ‘Papa’...? Does Francis make you speak in your shitty French?” 

“Fuck off. My French is passable. And you’re my brother, there’s a difference.”

“Mhm, all right. Well, if you want my advice— ”

“I don’t.”

“— then you’ll just ignore him. He’s just interested in seeing who is hanging around his friend, and probably a bit bored, so he’s just poking fun at you. And bro, you have some seriously amusing reactions.” 

Alfred considers that, and then sighs, “So you think he’ll leave me alone if I act nicer?” 

“I’m saying don’t rise to his challenges, and be cool and collected. Also, befriending him might be nice if possible since he is pretty famous.” 

“Yeah, he’s not going to want to be friends with me.” Alfred digs out his own phone and googles Yao Wang. There’s a few hits, but he recognizes one image as him, and clicks on it. It leads to his wiki page. 

Mr. Wang looks younger in the photo, and Alfred thinks it’s professional quality. Probably attached to one of his articles. He’s thirty apparently, and originally from Beijing. He has lived most of his time in London though, according to the background section of the wiki page— which other than that tidbit is strangely lacking? Not that Alfred’s spent a lot of time looking at famous people’s wiki pages, but he’s always assumed they were longer than a short aside. 

Matthew takes the ice cream away from him and he curls up on his side as he reads about all of Mr. Wang’s accomplishments. He feels something like professional envy as he does so.

“He seems pretty cool, Alfred, you really should try to like… get him to like you. He could really open doors for you.” 

Alfred sighs. “Yeah, only I’m pretty sure he hates me?” 

“Oh wow, someone actively disliking you? Shocking.” 

“Shut up.” 

Matthew shrugs. “He’ll come around. Everyone always comes around for you, Al.” 

“Yeah,” Alfred flicked down to the awards section. “Only I don’t think he’s one of them, Matt.” 


	3. confusion

Now that Alfred knows Mr. Wang’s first name, he finds it hard to think of him as Mr. Wang. Alfred’s always been the type of guy to call people how he likes to call them. And for some reason, ‘Yao’ fits the other man better than ‘Mr. Wang’ does. Mr. Wang is like some stuffy old teacher, and Yao is nothing like that. At least his writing isn’t. Alfred finds it hard to believe that such a man has published this many articles and on so many differing topics. He dips his toes mostly into political stuff, but he also has quite a few human interest stories.

Yao’s just really good at what he does. Alfred finds himself more interested in learning about him, and he feels something like respect start to bloom.

* * *

 

Francis takes him shopping. It’s one of their favorite things to do together. They don’t go to the malls, but rather to boutiques were Alfred gets fitted for all kind of things like jeans and shirts. Mass produced clothing is not what Francis can tolerate. Alfred can’t blame him after wearing some of the stuff he buys. Shit is legit comfortable.

Francis is safe. He’s like coming home after a long day away and settling in for a nice long evening of Netflix and ice cream. He’s a calming presence in Alfred’s life after the chaos that has been the last year and a half since his parents’ death. Alfred is truly grateful for him.

He’s grateful, and yet doesn’t know why his eyes keep seeking out Yao when he goes to the club with Francis that Saturday. He’s now starting to remember names of some of the regulars. It’s easy to fall into this with Francis there to guide him along the way. All he has to do is just smile and look handsome and people love him.

Everyone but Yao.

“Darling,” Francis says, and Alfred hmms at him as he sips some pink drink that he snagged from a passing server. “You’re frowning. What’s wrong?”

“Think I’m getting a bit of a headache, but that’s nothing. I can deal.”

Francis frowns at him, and Alfred hates it when Francis frowns. It really ruins the lines of Francis’s otherwise elegant and perfect face.

Francis touches a hand to his back and drops a kiss on his forehead. “I’ll call the car ‘round, and then take you home.”

“But—”

“No buts. If you’re sick, you should be at home resting.”

Alfred swallows his protest. He tries to bury his feelings of disappointment, too. He wants… what does he want? To spend time with Francis, obviously. But, also he wants to see Yao. That thought surprises him. Who is Yao compared to Francis?

Francis instructs him to sit while he goes and says goodbye to some ‘key persons’, and so Alfred does. He rubs a finger to his head and groans. He really wanted for them to have a nice night, and now he feels like he’s ruined it.

That’s when Yao shows up. From his spot near the front of the room, he gets to see when he enters — and he sees when Yao notices him. The other man inclines his head slightly, and then starts greeting people who come up to him. But, Alfred can’t help but notice that as he does so, he’s making his way towards him? And that can’t be right, can it?

It turns out to be right when Yao settles down in the armchair across from him, and leans forward slightly. “It’s unlike you to be all alone, Mr. Jones.”

“Is it?”

“Is Bonnefoy busy again?”

“He’s just saying his goodbyes.”

“Leaving so early?”

“Headache,” Alfred says by way of explanation. He doesn’t specify who has a headache, and Yao doesn’t ask. Instead the man leans back again and looks thoughtful. That’s all he has time to do before Francis returns and greets him warmly.

“I’d love to stay and chat, Wang, but Alfred has taken ill so I’m taking him home.”

“Is that so?” Yao says. “Then by all means, please see the boy home.”

Alfred stands up and lets Francis take him by the waist. Before he’s out of earshot, he calls back, “See you later, Yao.”

* * *

 

He’s sick in bed for four days, and Francis brings him homemade soup on the second day, but gets called away to London after that. Something about his _idiotic_ partner mucking up. So, on the fifth day, feeling better, Alfred heads to campus. He goes to class but has to leave early since he’s still not feeling so well. Francis is out of town, several hours ahead timezone wise, so Alfred just sends him sad emojis because he’s so bored. Matthew is at hockey practice, so Alfred just wanders aimlessly around downtown D.C. because what else can he do?

He eventually goes to the mall. He gets a frappuccino at Starbucks and then heads to the bookstore. He’s looking at the comic book section when he hears Yao.

At first he thinks he’s imagining things, but then he looks up and there’s Yao. Yao hasn’t noticed him, and Alfred’s glad for that because Yao’s with someone else. A younger boy who is talking rapidly in Chinese, Alfred guesses, and pointing at manga for some reason.

Alfred isn’t sure what to do. Like, does he go up to Yao and be all chill like, ‘hey’ or does he just ignore him? Also what is with Yao’s outfit? It’s not his club look. It’s just plain jeans, and some t-shirt with Hello Kitty on it. Is this really Yao? He must be mistaken.

The choice is taken away from him when Yao looks away from his younger friend and spots Alfred in the comic section holding the newest issue of Black Panther.

“Mr. Jones?” he asks.

“Yao,” Al acknowledges. He can’t stop staring at the Hello Kitty shirt.

“One of your work friends, old man?” the boy next to Yao asks, and his accent sounds British for some reason.

“Leon,” Yao says, “this is Alfred Jones.”

Leon. Why does that name sound familiar to Alfred?

“Nice to meet you, Leon. You can just call me Al.” He holds out a hand, and the younger boy (he has to be like 17 at the most) fist bumps it. Yeah, he’s entered into the Twilight Zone. Like, is Yao really wearing a Hello Kitty shirt right now?

“I keep telling you that Alfred is a perfectly acceptable name, Mr. Jones.”

“And I keep telling you that you’re more than welcome to call me by my first name.”

Yao looks off, and Alfred wonders if he feels as awkward as Alfred does. It would be a first. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Yao look awkward or out of place before.

“I’ll consider it,” Yao says. “What are you doing here?”

“Um, buying comics?” Alfred holds up the comic in his hand, and Leon neatly takes it from him.

“You look more like a Captain America fan, no offense,” Leon says.

“...you know what? I get that a lot,” Alfred says, “Also, don’t say it’s because I look like him. I get that a lot too.”

“Captain America?” Yao asks. Both Leon and Alfred turn to him, and Leon face palms, and goes, “Oh, c’mon you had to have at least seen the movie posters before.”

Yao sighs. “Superheroes aren’t really my thing.”

“Right, forgot. Cartoons are mostly,” Leon says. He steps towards Alfred to return the comic, and says in a low voice, “He watches _My Little Pony_ and _Hello Kitty_ like religiously.”

Yeah, Alfred’s in the Twilight Zone. Leon hands him back his book and then grabs Fullmetal Alchemist volume 12 off the stand and moves past him.

“Meet me at the counter, old man.”

“Please excuse my brother for his rudeness,” Yao says. He makes like he’s going to leave, and Alfred doesn’t want that. This is like nothing he’s ever seen before, and hell if he’s going to let it just walk away from him.

“Um, would you and Leon like to join me for dinner?” he asks.

Yao raises an eyebrow. “On Francis’s dime?”

“If you’re that against it, you can pay,” Alfred says annoyed.

“I just don’t think you should be treating other men on your lover’s dime.”

“Then treat me on yours. I just got over being sick.”

Yao sighs, and Alfred can tell he’s won. “Which restaurant?”

* * *

 

He learns the following over dinner with Leon (who is listed on Yao’s wiki page as his brother) that:

-Yao is REALLY into Hello Kitty.

-Yao was born in China, but Leon was born in the UK.

-They have a sister named Mei and a brother named Kiku.

-Yao isn’t too fond of all the meat that Alfred can shove down his throat.

-Yao didn’t know that Alfred was only 20.

-Yao didn’t know that Alfred is a twin and has a younger sister.

-Yao’s taking a break from work for a few months.

* * *

 

Yao offers to drive Alfred home, but Alfred declines because he doesn’t want Yao to see his neighborhood. Francis is one thing, but Yao is another. He makes Yao take him to the station, and tells him he’ll see him around.

* * *

 

Francis comes back, and Alfred doesn’t mention the dinner out with Yao. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t, but what Yao said before he agreed keeps playing over in his head.

_I just don’t think you should be treating other men on your lover’s dime._

But Alfred’s intentions were innocent. It’s not like it was a date. Leon was there for goodness sake. It was just hanging out and eating dinner. So then if it was so innocent, why can’t he bring himself to tell Francis?

 


	4. epiphany

Finals are upon Alfred and he warns Francis that he’ll be unavailable for the first two weeks in May. They’ve been officially in this relationship for going on four months now. It’s so odd to think of himself as in a relationship with Francis, but that’s what Francis wants to call it, and so Alfred goes along with it. Alfred is very much just going along with whatever Francis wants, and it works. Has been. 

He and Leon exchanged contact information, and now he sometimes gets random snaps of the other boy at college. He and Yao did not exchange contact information, and sometimes he wonders what would have happened if they did. With Leon, it had been easy. With Yao, for some reason, he feels like that carries a weight to it. Ugh, he’s still thinking about what the other man said! It was not a date. He wouldn’t do that to Francis. 

* * *

 

Two weeks pass, and he doesn’t see Francis or go with Francis to the club to see Yao. He doesn’t know why that bothers him. He can’t tell which bothers him more — and that in itself bothers him. 

“I want you to meet Arthur,” Francis says when Alfred answers his phone. “He’s in town tonight, and I would really love for you to meet him. He’s a prat, so apologizes in advance if he’s rude to you.”  

“Your business partner, Arthur? That rude guy you hate?” 

“Yes, the very same.” 

“Are you sure about that? What if he doesn’t like me?” Alfred asks, remembering the first encounter with Yao. 

“That’s fine. Arthur doesn’t like anyone, so you’ll be right at home. I’ll come around 6 to pick you up. Wear something…” Francis pauses, as though searching through his mind’s eye of all the thing he’s bought for Alfred, “Wear that green tee.” 

“Why that one?” Alfred is confused, because normally Francis wants him in blue or red. 

“You’ll see.” Francis hangs up, and Alfred sighs. 

* * *

 

Arthur is a literal walking disaster waiting to happen. Like, his hair is constantly a mess because he’s always playing with it. Francis will fix it, and then Arthur messes it back up. His eyebrows take up like half his forehead. He’s short, angry, and very British. He says ‘fawk’ instead of ‘fuck’. His eyes are the same deep green as the shirt Francis had him wear. 

And Francis is without any reasonable doubt crazy in love with him. 

It make sense in an odd way? And it just leaves Alfred going ‘oh fuck’ not because of jealousy, but because he’s not sure why Francis is bothering with him when he obviously wants Arthur. Like he  _ really _ obviously wants Arthur, so much so that Alfred’s surprised that Arthur’s not aware of it. 

When Francis leaves to take a phone call during dessert, Arthur clears his throat and goes, “Right then.” 

“...what?” 

“I suppose it falls upon me to have this out with you.” 

“Have what with me?” 

“This… talk. God, please don’t make this difficult.” 

“Dude, just tell me what you want to talk to me about,” Alfred says. “If it’s a ‘please don’t hurt Francis’ talk, I’ve already had one from Yao. Thanks, but no thanks.” 

“You’ve met Wang?” Arthur asks, and then shakes his head. “But yeah, that talk. If you hurt Francis, I will hurt you.” 

“Why? You don’t seem overly fond of him.” 

Arthur’s brows sort of try to close in one another as he frowns, but it’s more like they’re eating each other. They’re really big. “He’s my mate. Also my business partner so if he gets hurt, our company suffers because he can’t separate out his feelings as neatly as me.” 

“Oh, so you do care. Somewhat.” Alfred says, and then says no more as Arthur messes up his hair again. 

“Just, don’t be a prat, okay? Treat him kindly. He really seems fond of you, so please don’t mess this up.” 

“I’m not going to mess up anything,” Alfred promises.

“Thank you,” Arthur says, looking relieved. His frown goes away at least. Somewhat. 

* * *

 

“Okay,” Matthew says, “I try to stay out of your business as much as possible, because honestly you do a lot of weird things, but is this literally a shrine dedicated to Yao Wang on the kitchen table or am I going crazy?” 

“It’s not a shrine! I just printed out some of his stuff and was looking over them.” 

“Also photos. You printed out photos, too.” 

“Why do you think it’s a shrine? Like why is that the first thing that popped into your head?” 

“Iunno because you have some candles in front of the things? Kinda looks like a shrine, bro.” 

“I have the candles to act as  _ paperweights _ .” Alfred huffs, and then sighs, “I just… I wanted to see what the big deal was. Why he’s so famous. He watches _ My Little Pony  _ for fuck’s sake, and he is literally in love with Hello Kitty. Like Leon just snapchatted me a photo of him with a Hello Kitty doll.” 

“Are you making Leon stalk him for you? That’s kinda creepy…” 

“Hey, I did not ask him for photos of Yao.”

“And yet, here you are with photos of Yao on our kitchen table.” 

“Will you get over that already?” 

“Take down your shrine so I can eat my dinner in peace and maybe I’ll bring it up only four more times.”  

“...thanks, you’re a real fucking bro, Matty.” 

“I try.” 

* * *

 

“Haven’t seen you around lately,” Yao says when he settles down next to him at the bar. Francis is just a bit away talking with some possible future clients. He’s looking happy, and excited, and Al is so glad for him. 

“Finals,” Al shrugs, trying and failing not to stare at Yao. His hair is loose today. Flowing over his shoulders in waves, and Alfred wants to touch it. He’s hit with a fierce longing to grip it, and he has to look away. Yao’s dressed to the T, and Alfred finds himself feeling wistful for his more casual look. Even if it was nerdy as hell, it was still more… natural than this Yao, it feels like. 

“Oh right, did you finish them all right then?” Yao actually seems interested, and so Alfred falls into conversation with him about his finals. They end up moving away from the bar, and away from Francis when more people come and into a set of armchairs near the back of the room. 

Alfred feels relaxed, and nice like this. He even feels nice enough to accept a glass of wine from the server when they pass through. Yao takes notice of this, and tilts his head. 

“That’s a first.” 

“What’s a first?” 

“You never drink two glasses of anything when here.” 

Alfred looks down at the wine glass, and sighs. “You noticed that?” 

Yao hmms, and then says in a low voice, “Why is that?” 

Alfred laughs. “Well, I am underage, you know?” 

“But that doesn’t stop you from having a drink in the first place.” 

Alfred shrugs. “I gotta make sure Francis gets home safely.” It’s the half truth. Yao seems to accept it. 

“You care an awful lot for Bonnefoy, don’t you?” There’s this intense look on Yao’s face, and Alfred finds he can’t bring himself to look away from it. “I heard he even introduced you to Kirkland?” 

“Arthur? Yeah, earlier this week. He was in town.” 

“So I heard.” 

“You know Arthur?” 

“Everyone knows Arthur.” 

“You don’t sound like you like him.” 

“Did you?” 

“He’s… interesting enough. He threatened to hurt me if I hurt Francis.” Alfred sips from his wine glass, and Yao watches him. 

“What did you say to that?” 

“Same thing I told you, that I wouldn’t dare.” 

“That’s good,” Yao says. “I have to admit I like that about you, Mr. Jones.” 

“Alfred,” Al says. “My name is Alfred, Yao.” He corrects him because he’s trying to deny the not-so-small amount of pleasure he just got from Yao saying that he liked something about him. He’s in way too deep. Wait, he’s in way too deep about what? In wanting Yao’s approval? It would be okay and totally not weird if he wanted Yao’s approval. Yao is like a role model for him. Someone he’s aspiring to be when he grows up. Why wouldn’t he seek out his approval? 

“Alfred,” Yao says, and just like that, Alfred stops breathing. 

_ Oh fuck _ , he thinks,  _ fuck me _ . 

He wants Yao, and there’s no sugarcoating it, and no trying to hide it. He wants him. 

“Are you a lightweight, Alfred?” Yao says, and the way he says his name should be illegal. Like banned, because Alfred can’t breathe, and his pants are getting tight, and he’s about to be twenty-fucking-one in less than five weeks. 

“Um, no,” he says, and sets the glass down. Best to not further mess with his system. He doesn’t need to embarrass himself here. 

“That’s good,” Yao says. Alfred wants to ask  _ why  _ that’s good, but something stops him. And that something is Francis coming up right behind Yao with a smile on his face, and Alfred is so screwed. He is so incredibly fucking screwed. 

Lovely, perfect Francis who is in love with another man, and is also Alfred’s ticket to graduating and supporting himself for his final year. He doesn’t have time for wanting Yao, something that won’t ever bear fruit because Yao doesn’t want him. So why is he even getting worked up over this? 

“Alfred, cher, ready to go now? Thanks for keeping him entertained for me, Wang.” 

Yao looks up, and smiles at Francis. “Of course.” 

Alfred lets Francis pull him up from his seat, and smiles down at Yao. “See you next week.” 

“Yes,” Yao says. “I’ll see you then.” 

Alfred wishes it didn’t sound so much like they were arranging a date. 


	5. mistakes

“Okay, Al. I know I said I wasn’t going to bring it up again, but when I said ‘please get that Yao Wang shrine out of the kitchen’ that didn’t mean ‘please set it up in our living room’ just so you know.”

“For the last time, it’s research, not a shrine.” 

“Candles.” 

“ _ PAPERWEIGHTS.” _

“What would Francis make of this?” Matthew shakes his head and leaves out of the living room and goes into the kitchen. “Like, it’s almost like you’re crushing on the guy. It’s sad. Are you supposed to be Helga here? Is Yao Arnold?” 

“You grew up in Canada. How do you even know that show? How is that even a thing?” 

“You act like Canada doesn’t have TV or something, Alfie.” 

“Whatever, s’not a shrine. It’s research.” Alfred rearranges some of the articles, and points, even though Matt can’t see him anymore. “Like, this is from the start of his career till last year. He seems to like working with this photographer named Ivan a lot? And—” 

“You know I am trying to eat lunch right, and oh my god did the shrine grow? How? I was in the kitchen for like a minute.” 

“It didn’t grow,” Alfred says, all offended. Matthew just looks at him, and then dips his fingers into his bag of chips. “Also, chips aren’t lunch.” 

“I’m making nachos, you ass. Also on a serious note,  _ are _ you crushing on the guy? Cuz you should probably break up with Francis if you are.” 

“I am not breaking up with Francis,” Alfred says. “We would lose this apartment if I did.” 

“Alfred,” Matthew looks serious. “You know that we could probably make it work if you did need to break up with Francis.” 

“Well, good thing we don’t need to worry about that cuz we’re not breaking up.” Alfred says that with a warning in his voice, and Matt heeds it. He goes back to the kitchen, grumbling about stubborn asses. But honestly, Matthew should know how important it is for Alfred that they keep this apartment so that they can stay together. 

He can’t bear to lose what little family he has left. So, regardless of whether or not he has feelings for Yao, he’s not going to risk losing Francis’s support. It just isn’t worth it. He can’t lose Francis, not when he has to take care of himself and his siblings. 

* * *

 

Francis and Alfred don’t have sex as often as people (like Matthew) might like to imagine. If he and Francis meetup three times a week, there’s a fifty-fifty chance that one of those meetings might lead to sex. So really, he was having sex more when he was single compared to now, with Francis. He doesn’t really mind. It’s not like he’s a sex machine who needs it in order to function. 

It’s just that he has  _ needs _ . And those needs are going unmet, which isn’t Francis’s fault in the least, but he had sort of expected there would be a lot more sex involved in this arrangement than there has been. 

It’s not that Francis doesn’t find him attractive, because they have had sex — like, mind blowingly amazing sex. Francis has treated him like he was a work of art — something to be almost sickeningly praised and worshipped, which had honestly done a lot for Alfred. Each time they have sex, he feels like it’s better than the last time for the sheer fact that the more Francis learns about his body and how it reacts, the better he gets at making Alfred bloom underneath his touch. 

Even still, something is missing from their union. It takes seeing Francis with Arthur to figure it out. Francis isn’t in love with Alfred, and even though he’s perfectly willing to sleep with Alfred, he’s not putting his all into it. Alfred’s never been in love, but he figures that when you truly love someone, you put your everything into making sure they know that. That having sex is more than getting off, or more than having fun, but more like a religious experience. He doesn’t have any proof to back this up, but he’s pretty sure he’s right. 

Knowing that Francis loves Arthur, yet is staying with Alfred for reasons unknown, really puts a damper on his attraction to Francis, which is a shame because Francis is beautiful. Like, if there was such a thing as being made for sex, then Alfred would wager that Francis was made for it. The guy oozes with his sensuality and sexuality. He’s very open with his affection for Alfred, and his attraction to him. But he’s also open with his attraction to people in general, and his affection for the beauty that is humanity. Francis is in love with being alive and likes to surround himself with aesthetically pleasing things. Alfred can understand that. 

And if he just happens to be one of said things, he’s okay with that; that means he doesn’t have to worry about securing his future for a while. So, he ignores the fact that their sexual relationship is starting to decay, and focuses on the fact that their friendship (if he can call it that) is going strong. He’s making Francis happy, and that’s what matters. 

However, try as he might to deny it, he is still a very healthy man, with a very healthy libido, who is very much attracted to Yao fucking Wang. He thinks that if he and Francis were fucking more, he wouldn’t be thinking about what it would be like to undress Yao. He wouldn’t be obsessing over what it would be like to kiss Yao. What it would be like to touch Yao’s skin. He would be able to banish Yao Wang out of his head because fucking Yao would be cheating on Francis — and he has no intentions of ending his agreement with Francis before he graduates. He’s pretty sure there’s a verse in the Bible about how even imagining stuff is cheating, so he tries to cut off his imagination before it even reaches that far into its fantasies. 

* * *

 

Needless to say, it gets harder and harder to bear being around Yao at the club. He used to enjoy their private chats, but now he actively only tries to engage with Yao when they’re surrounded by other people or when he’s with Francis. The buffer of people only helps a little because even with other people around, he still finds himself getting caught up in Yao’s orbit and they still leave everyone else behind and go into a world of their own. It sucks. 

It’s like drowning, and there’s no one that’s going to save him because no one can ever know. 

* * *

 

“I’m glad that you and Wang have become such good friends,” Francis says one night when they’re on the way to the club. “You know he sometimes takes on interns, right? As personal assistants. That could be something you can ask him about doing when he decides to go back to writing.” 

Alfred’s mind is instantly in the gutter, and he’s imagining all the more personal, intimate ways he can help Yao out. “Yeah? I don’t know if he’d want someone as inexperienced as me, though.” 

“Nonsense,” Francis says. “You’re a good writer, and plus inexperience can be a bonus. He could teach you a lot than if you came in with all your own preconceptions.” 

“That’s true,” Alfred says. Francis is driving tonight, so he parks, and they walk up to the club and get let in. Since Francis is driving instead of another driver, that means he doesn’t plan on drinking. It also means several other things. One is that he probably is going to have a meeting with some others in one of the backrooms. Another is that there’s a high chance that Alfred will get laid tonight and not have to take the last train home, but rather will be spending the night. The getting laid part depends on if Francis’s deal goes well or not, but Alfred hopes it does because he needs to get rid of this sexual energy in his system. 

So it’s with that mindset that he goes into the club and settles at the bar when as predicted, Francis excuses himself to a private room. He drinks water and people watches, mostly. Sometimes the odd partner of one of Francis’s acquaintance comes and starts up a conversation with him, but it never lasts long. It’s like they can tell he’s not that interested, not tonight at least. So they leave him to his thoughts. 

He’s thinking that he’s lucked out, and this will be one of those rare times when Yao doesn’t show up, when he does in fact show up. He shows up with some big, huge white guy who he quickly parts ways from and comes to the bar next to Alfred. 

Alfred feels like he’s been betrayed as he watches the huge dude work the crowd. Who the fuck is he? 

“ —Alfred?” 

Alfred forces his eyes to focus on Yao. He looks incredible. Not that he doesn’t always look that way, but tonight he is clearly wearing eyeliner and has on the tightest pair of jeans ever. His shirt sleeves are short enough that Alfred can catch the glimpse of a tattoo. His hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He looks casual, and not like he’s going to stay at this club, but rather is heading out to a different type of club. 

“Evening, Yao.” 

“Good evening, Alfred,” Yao says. He looks amused, and then glances at his… friend. His expression shifts to some emotion that Alfred can’t quite place for a moment before he sighs. 

Alfred realizes that he’s jealous and pissed, and tries his hardest to bury that feeling. It’s not like he has any claim on Yao or can have any claim on Yao. “Who’s the big guy?” he asks. 

“Ivan,” Yao says, and that’s the name of Yao’s frequent photographer, right? “He’s in town for a few days, and wanted to stop in and say hi to everyone.” 

“‘Stop in’? You’re not staying?” Alfred doesn’t mean to sound so disappointed by that, but he is. 

“No, Ivan wants to bar hop a bit. I figured I’d indulge him.”

“Where are you going?” 

“Here and there,” Yao says vaguely. 

Alfred makes a noise, and looks back at Ivan. Dude is huge. Is that Yao’s type? Huge white dudes who look like they could benchpress a nation? He scowls, and then says, “Well, Francis is in one of the back rooms, if that’s who you were looking for.” 

“While that’s good to know, I wasn’t looking for Francis,” Yao says. Alfred looks at him instead of at Ivan, and Yao continues. “I was looking for you, actually.” 

“Why me?” Alfred tries and fails not to get his hopes up (hopes up for  _ what _ , he doesn’t know). 

Yao hesitates. “Can we talk somewhere more private?” 

Alfred studies him, and then looks at Ivan talking with Eduard von Bock (one of the technology up and comers) and says, “Sure.”

Yao smiles, and it’s like the sun shining after a rainy morning. “Follow me.” 

They go to one of the private rooms. The back of the club is somehow bigger than the front, and Alfred’s pleasantly surprised by that. The room Yao finds for them isn’t very large, just big enough for a table and some chairs. Yao sits in one of the chairs, and Alfred leans against the wall by the door. 

Yao crosses his legs, and then just looks at Alfred. Alfred tries and succeeds in not shifting his weight nervously. Maybe he shouldn’t have agreed to this. 

“Alfred,” Yao says. “You know this is the first time we’ve ever been properly alone?” 

Alfred’s well aware of that. They talk in private, but it’s always in view of other people who can easily overhear them if they want. How often has Francis walked up and joined in on their conversations, after all? And lately, Alfred has been making efforts to make sure they’re not alone—and shit, he’s really fucked that up, hasn’t he?

“What of it?” he asks as he glances at the door. 

“Alfred,” Yao says, and his voice contains a command that Alfred heeds when he says, “Look at me.”

So Alfred does. He really likes what he’s seeing, but that’s beyond the point. “What?” he asks, letting his own annoyance come into his tone. 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” 

“I haven’t been. We’re talking right now, aren’t we?” 

“Don’t play dumb. Did I say something to upset you? Are you still thinking that I hate you?” 

“Um, no and no? Dude, I haven’t been avoiding you.” Yao just gives him a  _ look  _ and Alfred sighs. “Why does it matter if I have been?” Yao gives him another look, and Alfred sighs again but louder.

“I was just curious as to why.” 

“There’s no real reason if I have been,” Alfred says. “Things just worked out like they have.”

Yao stands up and walks to the door next to Alfred. “Then I suppose that’s your answer.” He sounds almost disappointed? He goes to open the door, and that’s it? That’s all he wanted? Alfred feels disappointed, but he can’t tell why. 

Alfred sighs, and then Yao turns. Their eyes meet for a moment, and Yao goes, “Oh, Alfred.” 

“What?” Alfred asks, but Yao doesn’t say anything back. Instead he takes his hand off the door and picks up Alfred’s left hand. He stares at the leather bracelet wrapped around Alfred’s wrist for a long moment, before looking up at Alfred. 

Sometimes Alfred forgets how short Yao is compared to himself. Like it rarely matters cuz they’re usually sitting, but they’ve never been this close before, and he swears he can feel Yao’s thigh touching his own. 

“Alfred,” Yao says. “Are you afraid of me?” 

“What? No.” 

“Are you afraid of yourself?” 

“No.” 

Yao drops his voice to an intimate whisper, “Then why have you been running away from me?” Yao presses a kiss to Alfred’s knuckles, and Alfred forgets to breathe. “Why have you been running away from yourself?” 

“I’m not,” Alfred protests, but it sounds weak to his own ears. 

“Then why did you just look so sad when I was about to leave? Why else would you have started avoiding me? Are your own feelings that scary? I would have thought that a man like yourself, who loves heroes so much, would ever do such an unheroic thing.” 

Alfred is literally speechless, and Yao takes advantage of that. He moves so he’s all the way in front of Alfred — and it’s like Yao’s pinning him to the wall with just his hand and eyes. Alfred can’t move. What is Yao doing? This is not part of the plan. This is not part of what was supposed to happen tonight. 

“Alfred,” Yao says. 

“Yeah?” Alfred manages out, and he can’t stop looking at Yao. Francis is very far from his mind in this moment. 

“I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you. Can I?” 

That’s a line that should not be crossed, Alfred knows. Kissing and touching are things he only does with Francis. They agreed on monogamy because Francis had joked about having orgies and Alfred had said, ‘No way’. Even still, Alfred’s eyes go to Yao’s lips. How many times has he dreamed about kissing him in the last three weeks? 

Yet, here’s Yao admitting that he has felt the same. Alfred doesn’t know what the hell to do with that knowledge, so he just focuses on the here and now. Consequences be damned. 

“Yes,” Alfred says. 

Yao tastes like liquor and all the good things in life. Like a cup of half melted ice cream on a summer day. Like the red and blue gummy worms. Like a perfectly grilled burger. He also tastes foreign. Alien and unique. 

His body is warm against Alfred’s and he wonders if Yao can feel how hard his heart is pounding. It feels like it’s about to leap out of his chest and into Yao’s. Their tongues touch, and he opens up for Yao who does the same for him. The kiss is so unlike what he’s used to that he doesn’t know what to do. 

The kiss finally ends, and Yao says, “I wanted to do that at least once,” steps back, and walks out of the room before Alfred can collect his wits. 

He would follow after him, but he doesn’t know what he would say, what he should do. All his guilt comes crashing down, and he slides down the wall and wipes at his face, avoiding his mouth. 

“Oh fuck,” he says. “Fuck me.” 

* * *

 

When he has finally composed himself enough to go back outside, Yao and Ivan are gone. Alfred goes to the bar and proceeds to drink himself stupid to drown out the taste of Yao’s mouth. 

He’s really fucked up. 

* * *

 

Francis takes him home, and tells him to take some medicine and call him in the morning. Matthew helps him to bed, and doesn’t ask why he’s drunk. Sometimes Matthew can be a good older twin. Sometimes. 

All Alfred knows is that while he feels guilty for kissing Yao, he wouldn’t have ever turned that down. 

“I’m so fucked,” he slurs. 

Matthew pats his head, and says, “Go to bed, Al. You’ll feel better in the morning.” 

So he does. 


	6. aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I suppose I should mention at this time that my Alfred and Matthew are both biracial?

Alfred gets a text from Leon in the days following The Kiss that talks about how he’s going to be in town that upcoming weekend and asks if Alfred would like to hang out. Would Alfred like to hang out with the younger brother of the man he’s half in love with? The answer surprises even himself. He tells Leon that they can hang out Saturday and go catch the newest Marvel movie to compare it to the DC film they both watched separately. Leon agrees to his suggestion.

Alfred feels calm which is good. He had been hungover the rest of the weekend following The Kiss, so he’s glad he can feel calm. It was _just_ a kiss. No big deal. People kiss all the time. Also he’s pretty sure Yao was drunk so that doesn’t even count as a kiss. If it doesn’t count, he doesn’t have to own up to it and he doesn’t have to tell Francis. He won’t have to break up with Francis.

It’s all going to be okay. He’s going to bury his feelings for Yao, and it’ll be like nothing ever happened.

He wishes he was a better liar.

* * *

 

Since school is out for the summer, he doesn’t have any stories to write for the newspaper. He’s looking for part-time summer work to keep himself busy, since it’s boring to sit at home and just think. Also, Francis is yet again out of the country so he has some free time since he doesn’t have to entertain him.

He won’t admit out loud how happy he is that Francis is gone so that he doesn’t have to look him in the face. His guilt and regret would be written all OVER his face. He feels terrible. He feels like shit.

“Stop moping around the house just because Francis is gone,” Matthew says because he always thinks he knows what’s up with Alfred, but doesn’t in this case. “If you’re so damn bored, why don’t you go visit Angie?”

“I can’t just go visit her cuz I feel like shit. What kind of brother do you take me for?” Alfred grumbles.

“So I have to see your moodiness, but you’ll spare our sister?”

“You’re the oldest, Matt. Why don’t you try acting like it?”

“I am,” Matthew says. His voice softens. “She asked about you, you know.”

Alfred feels more guilt coming upon him. “She did?”

“Yeah, she was wondering how your semester went. I told her you’d tell her yourself.”

Al sighs. “Yeah, all right. I’ll go visit her.”

They don’t have a car, and Alfred’s wary to get behind the wheel of one regardless, so he has to take the bus to where Angie is. It’s a nice day, and the short walk from the bus stop to the facility clears his head somewhat.

When he arrives, they tell him that she’s eating lunch and he’s welcome to join her. So he signs in, and goes to the cafeteria. He knows its location well, even if he is a terrible big brother and doesn’t visit nearly as often as he should.

“Oh!” Angie says when she sees him, and her brown eyes light up as she waves him down to sit next to her in her wheelchair. She’s sitting with another girl that she introduces as Camilla.

“Hey, Angel,” he says, fighting the urge to speak in a ‘baby voice’ to her. She hates that.

“Hey, Alfie,” she says, grinning wide. She takes after their father while he and Matthew both took mostly after their mother. Her skin is a tawny brown compared to his own skin that only looks like he has a near permanent tan. Her eyes are the same warm brown of their dad’s and it hurts to look in them sometimes. “What brings you round, stranger?”

“Heard a little birdy was talking about me.”

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t! Did Matthieu tell you that?”

“Dude might’ve.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve come!”

He looks at her, and he feels like he’s home. “Yeah,” he says softly. “So am I.”

* * *

 

Angelique is nine years younger than him, but it feels like he can tell the twelve-year-old almost anything. They take a scroll in the garden (‘jardin’, Angie says, speaking rapid fire French at him) and they talk. Angie tells him about her daily adventures and all the new friends she’s made. She doesn’t ask when she can come home, like she did at the beginning. Alfred isn’t sure how he feels about that.

He tells her about Francis, calling him his boyfriend. She teases him, and he helps her out of her wheelchair to sit on the grass, leaning against his side so she can make flower crowns out of the flowers he steals from the neat flowerbeds. He’s the one who taught her how to do this, but she’s better at it than him. Practice, he supposes.

He lets her reach up and put the crown on his head while he helps support her back. Then she settles down and makes a flower crown for him to take back to Matthew.

“So,” he says. “Got anybody here you like?”

“I like Camilla, and I like…” she goes on to run down a list of names. “But it’s hard keeping in touch when they leave so I can’t wait till I can make a Facebook!”

“Why haven’t you made one already?”

She wrinkles her nose at him. “You have to be thirteen, Alfie!”

“...really.”

“Yeah!”

“You do realize that’s like literally two weeks away, right?”

“So I’ll make one then! And then I’ll add you and Matt and Sarah and…”

He listens to her go on and on, and smiles. This was just what he needed. A reminder of why he’s doing what he’s doing. He has to stay with Francis. Angie is doing _good_ here. He can’t just take her out of here and thrust her back into society before she’s ready.

He leaves with his resolve renewed.

The Kiss meant nothing.

* * *

 

Saturday rolls around, and he heads to the movie theater to meet up with Leon. It’s probably a bad idea, but he really does want to see the movie, and Leon is good company. Leon’s more of a DC fan than Marvel, but Al’s an ‘everything superhero fan’ so he’s sure they’ll have a good time.

Francis is due to arrive back in town tomorrow, and then Alfred will have to be his for a while, but that’s a worry for tomorrow.

“Yo,” Leon says when he finds him. The teen takes out his headphones, and lowers his phone, “Ready to go in?”

“Did you get the tickets already?”

“Had to. They were like, about to sell out.”

“Damn, we’re probably going to get sucky seats then.”

Leon shakes his head. “Have more faith, bro.”

By that, Leon means that he charmed two girls into holding seats for them. They thank the girls, and then Alfred relaxes and settles down into the zone that only superheroes can induce in him. Afterwards, he and Leon chat with the two girls for a while until they have to go meet up with more of their friends. He and Leon decline joining and wander off the opposite way in the mall.

“I’m always like, thrilled by how late things stay opened in America,” Leon says when they’re walking around. They stop and grab some pretzels and Coke from one of the stands in the food court just outside the theatre.

“You go to school in London, right?”

“Yeah, I’m on break now, so I’m like hanging out ‘round with Yao this weekend. I’m kinda bouncing between his, Mei, and Kiku’s places for the summer though.”

“That must be fun! All that traveling, I mean.”

Leon shrugs. “Traveling starts to get boring after a while. You start wanting to settle down.”

“Have you traveled a lot then?”

“Oh man, Yao used to take me with him on assignments when I was younger? And like, first it was cool but then it got old really fast. There’s only so many times you can live outta a suitcase and sleep in a strange bed before it gets ugh.”

“Which assignments did he take you out on?”

Leon thinks for a moment. “Mostly the ones to China and East Asia in general. I think he like, wanted me to connect to our roots or some junk like that. Not be all westernized.”

“Well you speak Chinese, so it must’ve worked.”

Leon shrugs. “I’m learning it in school, so it’s not as good as Yao’s or Mei’s, but it’s something.”

“Um, your other brother doesn’t speak it?”

“Kiku?” Leon looks at him for a moment and shakes his head. “Nah, his dad taught him Japanese though.”

“Oh,” Alfred says.

“Kiku has a different dad than the rest of us, and he and Yao don’t really get along. You know how it goes; family drama and what not.”

Alfred nods. “Yeah, I know how it goes. Me and my twin brother actually grew up apart for a few years till we Parent Trapped our folks into getting back together.”

“Oh? That’s kinda cool. Did you sneak off and pretend to be him?”

Alfred laughed. “It wasn’t _exactly_ like the Parent Trap.”

“Dude, misleading reference then.”

“Matthew’s always had longer and curly hair than me so it wouldn’t have worked. I keep mines short so I can manage it.”

Leon snorts. “Yeah, don’t think your cowlick is going to get managed.”

“Oh shut up. So, you traveled with Yao a lot, right?” Alfred steers the conversation back towards other things than his hair. “Was Ivan someone who traveled a lot with you guys?”

Leon tosses his empty soda cup into a trash can, and holds out his hand for a high five when it makes it in. Alfred gives him the high five because it was a pretty sweet throw. “Ivan? You’re totally mangling his name, bro. It’s _Ivan._ He’s Russian. And yeah, I guess he did. He is Yao’s partner after all.” Leon takes a big bite out of his pretzel and looks at Alfred who tries to control his reaction.

“Partner?” he asks as neutrally as possible.

“Yeah, like he takes the photos and Yao writes the articles?”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” He doesn’t know how to ask Leon if he means partner in _that_ sense or if it’s in the other sense too. He thinks back to that night at the club, and then shakes his head because he’s not supposed to be _thinking_ about that. It’s over. Done. End of story.

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking, dude.”

“Yeah, I won’t. Wanna go into GameStop?” Since it’s right there, and he needs to get his mind off of Yao.

This turns out to be a bad idea because once more Yao pops up in their conversation after he’s totally beaten Leon at Mario Kart.

“Well, at least you’re a better winner than Yao is.”

“What do you mean?”

Leon makes his way over to the stand full of used DS games, and starts looking through them. “Oh, you know how competitive he is. Like, I think that’s the main reason he and Kiku don’t get along? Once Yao gets his mind on an idea, he gets all… fixated on it. It’s why he’s a good reporter.”

“I see…”

“Oh hey look, Yao has this. Or had it? I think it got lost in Iraq or he gave it away or something.” Alfred looks at the game in Leon’s hand. It’s _Cooking Mama_ of all things.

Alfred ends up laughing after Leon hands it to him. “He’s such a dork.”

“Says the one who just got done ranting at two poor girls about the morality differences between T’Challa and Tony Stark.”

“They liked it. Gave them a fresh perspective.”

“And the symbolism of the shield. Can’t forget that five minute lecture.”

“Education is important to me.”

“Ugh, reminds me of that story Yao did on Indian schoolgirls.”

“Oh, yeah, I read that one.”

“You have?” Leon sounds shocked by this. “That’s not that well known, actually.”

He does not mention what Matthew deems the Yao Wang Shrine, but instead shrugs. “I’m a fan of your brother’s works. He’s a good writer.”

“Hm,” Leon says, and then takes the game from Alfred’s hand. “I’ma buy this for him. Might get him to leave me alone for a bit. He’s just been…”

“Just been...?”

Leon goes the the register. “You know, being moody and junk.”

Yao’s being moody? Is it because of Alfred? Is it because of The Kiss — that he is _not_ going to think about again. Yao had been acting just a bit weird that night, and maybe it wasn’t just the alcohol fueling that... And there he goes again. He shakes his head, and has a ready smile when Leon turns around from the cashier.

“Must be his old age,” Alfred jokes.

“Yeah, must be,” Leon says.

They walk around the mall for a few more hours, eating occasionally, and chatting easily. It’s just like when they text but now Alfred has to watch his body language and his face so he doesn’t give away how thirsty he is for any and all information Leon drops about Yao.

They pass by the tattoo shop and Leon’s like, “Oh, I could never get one.”

“Why not?” He’s always wanted one, but hasn’t had enough money for the complicated designs he wants.

“You know how Yao has that huge dragon tattoo?”

“No?”

“Well he does,” Leon says. “Takes up like most of his chest and side. I think I got a photo here…” Leon digs out his phone, and swipes his fingers a few times. He gives Alfred his phone, and Al honestly tries his best to keep breathing. But Leon just literally handed him porn. This is porn. He is staring at Yao’s wet and naked chest and then he realizes it’s a fucking video. So he presses play. He’s surprised to hear Yao’s voice and he’s scolding Leon who isn’t in the video, but is just saying stuff to further rile up Yao until he leaves. “I recorded that to show Kiku and Mei what I have to deal with all the time. Like, can you believe he gets so anal over me leaving dishes in the sink?”

“Um, yeah, that is weird.” He hands Leon back his phone and he’s praying to all the gods in existence that his face isn’t red.

If it is, Leon doesn’t comment. “Anyway, yeah, did you see how huge that thing is? Like, that’s gangster, but no. No can do.”

“Yeah,” Alfred says. “I understand.” He just thinks the tattoo is really hot, and Yao has a really hot chest — and he’s not going to be able to get that image out of his head, is he? He’s so fucking screwed.

They keep walking and talking, and Alfred finds that he actually does enjoy Leon’s company. He’s glad they decided to hang out. He needed this; time away from people who he has to protect, or people he has to impress. Leon makes it very clear that he is not ever going to be impressed by anything Alfred does, so he doesn’t try. He relaxes.

That’s probably his biggest mistake; that he lets down his guard and lets Leon keep him out at the mall till it’s really dark and he misses the last bus. Leon’s like, “No big, I can take you home.” It doesn’t occur to Alfred that Leon doesn’t drive because by then it’s already too late. They’re walking in the parking lot towards a car that Leon points out— and there’s Yao to drive it.

Yao’s leaning against the hood of his car and smoking. It’s a habit Alfred never picked up, and one he kind of actually really hates. His paternal grandpa died of lung cancer, after all. But Yao, he looks almost cool in the night, highlighted by the dim light of the parking lot lights, and by his cigarette.

“Oh,” Alfred says, and it all comes rushing back to him. The memory of The Kiss that he’s tried to repress. The memory of Yao’s tongue against his own, Yao’s thighs and hips against his own, and just the taste of Yao that he can’t erase no matter what he does. Yao has gotten under his skin, and Alfred isn’t sure how to get him out. He’s not sure that he wants to. But he _needs_ to. He stops walking, and Leon looks back at him.

“Alfred?”

He can tell the moment that Yao notices him. His cigarette slips from his fingers, and he lets it fall as he takes a step forward. The cigarette goes out against the asphalt as Alfred watches. He can’t move. He thinks he hears Leon sigh.

But all he can see is Yao, and that’s not a path he can afford to go down. He can’t do this.

So he runs.


	7. decisions

Back in high school, he was on the basketball team, so Alfred has pretty good endurance. He also works out on a fairly regular basis because he likes staying healthy. Also it’s fun. So he thinks to himself,  _ I got this. I can go home and sort this out and figure out what to do next.  _

Then Yao grabs his arm, and he can’t move forward because Yao is pulling him back, and it’s a mess. It’s a literal mess. 

“Lemme go,” he demands. 

“Alfred, stop.” 

“No.” He tugs, and manages to get a few inches away, but Yao’s grip is like steel, and he’s not letting go. Why isn’t he letting go? 

“Alfred,” Yao says, and why does his voice sound so sad? Alfred’s heart is the one that’s troubled, all right? Yao has no reason to sound sad. “Look at me.” 

Alfred looks over his shoulder, and stops fighting Yao for the moment. He has a frown on his face, and Alfred hates when people frown at him. He hates it. So he stops and turns around. Yao doesn’t loosen his grip though. “What do you want, Yao?” 

“Why are you with Leon?” 

“We were hanging out today.” He can see Yao’s car and Leon a bit aways. How long have they been running? They’ve rounded almost around the corner of the mall. “I missed the bus and he offered me a ride. Didn’t realize you were his ride.” 

“So that’s why you ran? Didn’t we already talk about how you need to stop running away from me?” 

“We didn’t talk about jack. You kissed me and left.” Alfred tries not to sound bitter about it, but he is. He’s very torn up about it and wishes he wasn’t. 

“You kissed me back,” Yao points out. 

“Yeah, well, I had been drinking. Sue me.” It’s a lie and Alfred knows it, and he hopes that Yao doesn’t know it. He feels like he’s about to be sick. He can’t calm down. 

“You hadn’t been. You tasted pure,” Yao says. “Alfred.” 

“What?” Alfred can’t help his annoyance at being found out. It distracts from his nausea. 

“I’ll give you three times what Francis is giving you.” 

It takes Alfred a moment, and then he process what Yao is saying to him. Like, literally saying. “Are you trying to buy me?” 

“If that’s what it’s going to take to make you mines, yes.” 

Alfred laughs. He thinks for a moment that he must be going into shock, like, this can’t be his actual life, can it?; that he actually died in his parents’ place because this is not what should be happening right now. This can’t be happening. 

“Alfred,” Yao says. “I’m being serious.”

Okay, Alfred’s made some bad choices in life. He probably shouldn’t have kissed Kristen’s brother that one time when he was supposed to be taking her to a movie. He probably shouldn’t have spent his college sophomore year in a drugged up haze. He should have planned better for the future. He shouldn’t have said, ‘Yes’ when Yao asked to kiss him. 

Yao squeezes his hand. “Alfred, pay attention to what I’m about to say to you. Alfred, are you listening?” 

Alfred focuses in on the feeling of Yao’s hand in his. He thinks that he is probably having a panic attack. He’s pretty sure that he is. Yao wasn’t supposed to be here. It’s not part of the plan. 

“Yao,” he says. “I’m listening.” 

“I want you to break up with Francis and become exclusively mines. I’ll pay whatever amount you demand, and help you get through school.” 

Yao doesn’t know about Angie. He doesn’t know about her facility expenses. Alfred can’t let him keep talking. 

“No,” he starts to say, but Yao squeezes his hand. 

“Listen.” So Alfred does. “I want to help you, Alfred. I want to take care of you. Let me take care of you.” 

“Why? You don’t know a thing about me and you were judging Francis for that and — and now you want to do it? That doesn’t make any sense, dude!” Alfred cannot be the only one that sees that this doesn’t make any sense. Sure, Yao had kissed him, but that was a one time thing. He’d said so himself, that  _ I wanted to do this at least once, _ or something like that. 

“Why? Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because I want you.”

Yao’s still holding his hand, and Alfred thinks he can feel it shaking. Or is that him? Is he shaking? 

“Are you serious?” 

“I have never been more serious in my life.” 

Alfred doesn’t know what to say or do. He just stands there for a few moments and lets the silence build between them. “Let go of me.” 

“Are you going to run again?” 

“No, I just… I need to call someone.” Yao lets go of him and he pulls out his phone and hits the last dialed. Matthew picks up on the third ring. 

“Al? Where are you?” 

“Matty, can you move the Shrine to my room?” 

“The Shrine? Why?” 

He takes a deep breath, “I need to talk with Yao in the living room.” 

“Oh my god,” Matthew says, “You ARE IN LO—”  

Alfred hangs up, and then says tiredly, “Take me home.” 

* * *

 

Yao drops Leon off at the house he’s renting, and then drives Alfred home. Alfred is silent on the trip there. He needs to think and the long drive lets him do that. 

Yao wants him back, apparently. Yao wants to take care of him. Yao doesn’t realize how fucked up Alfred’s life is, and how fucked up Alfred is inside and has been since the crash that stole his parents from him and put Angelique in the facility. 

Yao cannot possibly continue to want Alfred if he learns of all of this. Francis is a businessman. There was never a question of wanting with him. It was a deal that they made that was mutually beneficial. Money for company and sex. 

Yao wants more than that, Alfred can tell. He wants Alfred to be his, and Alfred thinks that Yao has no damn idea what that would mean. Alfred can’t afford to just give himself away willy nilly. He has to stay free for Angie and Matty. His family needs him, and he needs them. Wanting someone is one thing, but needing someone? That’s a whole other story. 

* * *

 

The Shrine is gone when Alfred lets himself and Yao into the apartment. Yao didn’t comment on the neighborhood, and Alfred is glad for that. 

Matthew is sitting on the couch, and he stands up when Alfred and Yao come in. 

“Hey, Matty,” Alfred says. “Yao, this is my twin, Matthew.”

“Wow, um, hi,” Matthew says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He holds out a hand and Yao shakes it. 

“Pleasure to meet you as well,” Yao says. 

“Great, you’ve met. Matty, can you go take a walk or go visit Lars downstairs at the bar? I need to talk with Yao.” 

“...I can do that,” Matthew says. “Is an hour long enough?” 

“I’ll call you when I’m done.” 

“Okay, bro,” Matthew looks at Yao, shakes his head, then leaves. 

“Okay,” Alfred says, and he looks at Yao who is watching him. “Wanna sit down for me?” 

Yao sits down easily enough on the loveseat. Alfred remains standing. He tries to see the living room from Yao’s viewpoint, and fails. Shitty. It’s shitty; it’s all used furniture and obviously a mess because until half an hour ago he’d had almost all of Yao’s articles spread out over most of the available surfaces and had been going through them. Matt tried, he really did, but it’s very clear to Alfred that this is not the house of a rich man who can afford maids and shit. It’s not in the worst neighborhood, but it’s not in the best. But it’s what he has to work with. 

“This,” Alfred makes a sweeping motion, “is where I live.” 

“Yes,” Yao says. 

“This is where I’ve lived since my parents died. That was like… a year, year and a half ago.” He waits, but Yao is silent. Good, it’s Alfred’s turn to talk now. He pulls out his phone and pulls up a picture of Angie that he took the other day when they were wearing their flower crowns. “This is my sister. She’s a good kid. Can’t walk yet, but she’s getting there. She was in the car with Mom and Dad when some asshole rammed them because he was fucking wasted. So… that’s why I don’t drink much, in case you were wondering still. He died. They died. Angie survived, but barely. She’s at a rehab facility, learning how to like… cope. Learning how to live again. It’s really expensive and the repayments for the deaths and her insurance don’t cover it all.”

He takes a deep breath. “I was desperate, all right? I was working downstairs at the bar, going to class, working on the newspaper, and doing everything I could to help pay for Angie’s treatments and keep a roof over me and Matt’s head. So, I overhear some of the girls or whatever and they start talking about this site where you can like, hook up with rich people. So I was like, ‘might as well’ and then was fucking blessed to get noticed by Francis of all people. Me and Francis have a deal. He’s going to cover the next year it’s going to take for Angie to either learn how to walk again or learn how to deal with being in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, and pay me enough for the bills, and for saving up for a down payment for a car and house for her when she gets out. He’s giving me like five thousand a month, okay?” 

“Okay,” Yao says, and nothing more. 

“...” Alfred looks at him, and then looks away. “It’s not like I’m in love with Francis or anything. We’re friends now, I guess. But still, I can’t just do what you’re asking me to do so easily. What am I supposed to do when you stop wanting me? It’s not just  _ my _ life riding on the line here, Yao.” 

“Alfred,” Yao says. “Come sit down.” Alfred sits down, and Yao touches his knee. “I want to lift your burdens. You’ve been being very strong for a very long time, and I think you’ve earned a break now.” 

“Didn’t you hear a word I just said?” 

“Didn’t you hear me earlier? Three times whatever Francis is paying you. I meant that.” Yao squeezes his thigh. “Fifteen thousand a month is nothing to me, Alfred, as long as it means I get to have you.” 

“Okay,” Alfred says. “There’s no way you’re earning that much as a journalist!”

Yao smiles at him, “I’m paid a rather lot for what I do. And I have other investments. And side hobbies that I do. I can afford it. I can afford you for however long you want me.” 

Alfred shakes his head. “You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” 

“I’m really serious about you.”

Alfred shifts, and then moves closer to Yao. “Why me?”

“Alfred, it was only ever going to be you.” 

So, Alfred kisses him, and then tells him he’ll think about it. Yao kisses him back, and then gives him his cell phone number to call him with his decision. 

Alfred already knows what his decision is even before he talks it over with Matthew. 

* * *

 

Alfred meets Francis at the airport because Francis likes to be greeted when he lands by a familiar face. They catch a taxi to Francis’s condo. 

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks when they’re safely inside. “You’ve been quiet this entire time.” 

“Francis,” Alfred says. “What are the consequences for me breaking our arrangement?” 

“Oh,” Francis says. 

“Yeah,” Alfred says back. 


	8. steady

Yao personally delivers a check for fifteen thousand and then tells Alfred that he’s free to wait till it clears before contacting him again.

“I want you to trust me,” Yao says. Alfred just wants to know how Yao got a hold of so much money so quickly. But he doesn’t ask questions. He just puts the check into his account, and waits a week while his bank tries to figure out if he’s fucking with them.

He’s not, and they give him access to the funds. He uses it to pay for Angie’s treatments for the next month, pays so much on all the rest of the bills that he almost pays them all off, and then secures a down payment on a nicer apartment that’s not right above a bar in a quieter part of town.

Matthew doesn’t know what to think, but he still helps Alfred pack up their place, and move into the larger apartment. It’s on the ground floor so it should be accessible for Angie if they end up staying in it. That’s the plan at any rate. He’ll graduate, get a nice job, and they’ll stay together as a family. Angie deserves to live some of her life in a semblance of a stable home environment. Alfred wants to do right by her.

* * *

 

Yao calls him the day after he moves into his new place and invites him to his house for dinner. Alfred’s tired though, so he counteroffers with pizza and Netflix at his new place. Yao accepts. Alfred texts him the apartment’s address and then washes up in his ensuite bathroom. His bed looks tiny in the master bedroom, and he thinks that he’s going to go buy himself, Matthew, and Angie all bigger beds tomorrow.

“Al, I’m heading to the bar!” Matthew calls out to him as he’s brushing his teeth.

He spits, and asks, “Don’t you have hockey practice tonight?”

“It got canceled,” Matthew says with a frown. “So I’m going to go hang out at the bar and help Lars out. Some of the girls got sick so he needs a bartender. Probably going to make him drive me home. So… expect me back around two-ish? What are you doing tonight?”

“Apparently going to use the living room and not my room to watch Netflix?”

“Oh, okay.”

“I’m going to Netflix and Chill with Yao.”

“Okay, Al, remember that whole TMI thing we talked about? Where we agreed that I don’t tell you when I use the couch for sex and you don’t tell me?”

“Thanks for reminding me that I need to buy a new couch.”

Matthew rolls his eyes, “Don’t blow all your money in one sitting, Alfred.”

“I’m thinking… king-sized beds.”

“Okay, but still don’t overdo it.”

Alfred shrugs. Matthew sighs.

“I’ll be back later. Try not to leave condoms everywhere. It’s gross.”

“No promises!” Alfred calls out after him. He goes back to brushing his teeth.

He had just been fucking with Matthew about the Netflix and Chill. Like, yeah he would really like to get into Yao’s pants, but at the same time, what if they’re both really bad at sex with each other and that just… is the end of this whole deal? He’s nervous. He’s never been this nervous about the possibility of having sex since he was like sixteen.

Ugh, this is literally the worst.

He rinses out his mouth, and then gets dressed. Not in the clothes that Francis carefully picked out for him (he still feels like he should return those, but Francis told him to keep them), but in his old clothing. He’s running a hand through his still damp hair, when the doorbell rings.

Must be Yao.

Is he really ready to do this?

He takes one look at his face, and winks at himself. He’s Alfred Fucking Jones, of course he’s ready. He just hopes the fake confidence boost lasts through the night.

* * *

 

“So, didn’t order the pizza yet because I am not sure what type of toppings you like, and also I don’t know the numbers for this area yet.” Alfred says when he lets Yao in and steps aside so he can get in.

“Alfred, it’s fine. Relax,” Yao says. “Breathe.” He pauses and takes off his shoes and sets them aside. Alfred leads him to the living room while he breathes and tries to relax. It’s difficult when he has this nervous energy and anticipation bubbling in his skin. He doesn’t know what to do once they reach the living room, and he doesn’t think sitting will help.

Yao seems to realize this as he sits on the arm of the couch, and as he looks him up and down. He pauses and he frowns.

“Alfred,” he says.

“What’s up?”

“You did end things with Francis, correct?”

“Yeah?”

Yao sighs. “Then why are you still wearing his bracelet?”

Alfred looks down at his left wrist and at the leather bracelet hanging there. It’s worn thin from almost six months of showering with it on. “I forgot about it, honestly.”

“Take it off, please.”

“Why?”

“Because, Alfred, I don’t fancy my lover being adorned in gifts from other men he’s slept with.”

“Wow,” Alfred says. He’s feeling kind of glad that he didn’t wear one of the outfits that Francis had bought him. What if Yao had made him take that off? Wait, ‘make him’? Yao can’t make him do anything. Alfred actually happens to like the bracelet. It helps ground him. “Yeah, but no,” he says.

“Alfred,” Yao stands up from the couch arm and reaches out a hand for Alfred. Alfred backs up. Yao steps forward, and he backs up again. Yao keeps pressing forward, and Alfred keeps pushing back until he’s stumbled into the wall. Yao steps forward again, and rests his hands on either side of Alfred’s hips. It’s a familiar position.

“Why are you being stubborn about this?” Yao asks. He sounds more curious than frustrated, so that’s good right? “You agreed to be mines, right?”

“Yeah, we’re going to need to talk about what you mean by that? Like what exactly it entails.”

“Well for starters, we’re going to go and buy you new clothes.”

“Francis already did that.”

“He bought you clothes that he liked. But he didn’t buy you clothes that you liked, did he? You never looked at home in any of those clothes.”

“It’s… it’s not about what I like, is it? I mean, the entire point of it is that you pay me and I do what you want.”

“Alfred, don’t be silly,” Yao said. “I want you to be happy. I want you to feel safe and secure. I want to take care of your needs, I told you that, didn’t I? If money is part of how I free up your mind to focus on us, then so be it.”

“‘Us’?”

“Me,” and Yao presses a hand to his hip and strokes his side with his fingers. “And you. Us.”

“You say that like you want us to be a real couple.”

“We will be a real couple. I’ll just be supporting you financially as well.”

“As my Sugar Daddy.”

“If that’s what you want to call it, sure.”

Alfred sighs, and looks at Yao through lowered eyes. “What do you want? Do you want me to call you Daddy or something when we’re fucking?”

Yao’s fingers tighten on his side, but Alfred doesn’t flinch. Yao smiles, a quick thing.

“I’ve told you before about your mouth, Alfred.”

“You like my mouth.”

“I can think of some… uses for it, yes.”

Alfred doesn’t know why that excites him but it does. This whole conversation has proven an excellent distraction from his nervousness.

“What sort of uses?” Alfred asks. He gets an image of himself on his knees servicing Yao, and yeah, he’s definitely starting to get a bit heated under the collar here, feeling his thinking power focus a bit more southerly.

Yao just grins at him. “The bracelet, Alfred. Don’t think I forgot.”

Alfred sighs. “I really like it, okay? It helps me out a lot.”

“Helps with what?”

“Stuff,” Alfred says.

Yao studies him and then sighs. “I’ll allow it for now.”

“Gee whiz, thanks, sir.”

Suddenly both of Yao’s hands are on his hips, and he’s being pressed against the wall.

“Say that again.”

“‘Gee whiz’?”

Yao shoots him an amused look.

“‘Thanks, sir’?”

Yao kisses him. It’s not a gentle kiss like Alfred would expect. It’s a hungry kiss, as if Yao wants to devour him. And honestly, Alfred might be inclined to let him. Maybe. He’s not sure yet. So he might not make it that easy for Yao to kiss him. Maybe he doesn’t want to just give himself up over to this guy just because he dropped a rather lot of money on him in one sitting. Maybe Yao has to earn that first. He’s not going to make it easy for him. If he does, what does that say about Alfred?

He knows this doesn’t make any sense, because he really does want Yao, but he doesn’t want Yao to think that he’s easy just because he bought him. Like, does Yao expect him to wrap himself up with a bow and say, “Please fuck me!”? Yeah, no.

“You’re thinking again,” Yao says, kissing his jaw. Alfred’s slouched against the wall so that makes it easier for the shorter man to reach him, but even still Alfred doesn’t imagine it can be very comfortable for Yao.

“Yeah, sorta what people do.”

“Well, stop,” Yao says. “Focus on me.”

“I am,” Alfred admits. “You have my full attention.”

Yao smirks, and his hands slide underneath Alfred’s shirt as he goes, “Good.”

Alfred wants to be like, “Glad we settled that,” and usher Yao to the couch, but boy howdy if Yao doesn’t seem intent on touching his abs, and saying things like, “So strong,” and generally feeling him up against the wall. Alfred’s not priding himself on working out and such, that’s just a basic thing he does, but it’s not hurting his pride to hear Yao admire his hard work. To hear how damn appreciative he sounds of that. So maybe he relaxes a bit into the wall and just goes quiet as Yao touches him.

He doesn’t stay quiet as Yao keeps touches him, but _patience_ Yao says at one point, and patient Alfred is.

The reward for his patience is well worth it.

* * *

 

Afterwards, they actually do settle down to ordering pizza and watching a movie.

“So, pizza? I prefer vegetarian.”

“All right,” Alfred says. He settles on the couch and digs out his phone. As he’s doing a search for local pizza places that deliver, Yao grabs the only remote and settles against his side. He wraps an arm around Alfred’s waist and settles his chin on Alfred’s shoulder. Alfred really cannot focus when he’s doing that, but he doesn’t tell him to stop.

“I’ll pay,” Yao says before he types in the number.

“It’s no big deal,” Alfred says. “I can afford pizza.” Especially with all the money he’s saved up from Francis and the money he still has left of the fifteen thousand Yao gave him.

“Alfred,” Yao says. “Indulge me, please. I’ll pay with cash.”

It’s the please that gets to Alfred. He orders pizza, breadsticks, and soda since they’re not fully stocked yet on the bare necessities. He then indulges himself by rearranging how Yao’s pressed against his side so it’s not so distracting. Yao hands him the remote.

“What do you want to watch? I have Netflix. Thinking about getting cable.”

“Let’s watch one of your superheroes.”

“Sure,” Alfred says. “But sure that’s what you wanna do?”

“Yes,” Yao confirms. “I want to know why you like them.”

“Um, all right,” Alfred says, and then puts on The Avengers.

They watch The Avengers and then midway through it the food arrives, so they eat it in the living room while Yao asks him a LOT of questions about all the superheroes. He seems especially taken with Steve Rogers, so when The Avengers goes off he puts on Captain America: The First Avenger. It’s not on Netflix so he has to go digging through his DVDs but it’s worth it to see the look on Yao’s face during the campy dancing montage.

“He really did that?”

“Yes,” Alfred says. “Isn’t it just great?”

“It’s something,” Yao says. They’ve abandoned their pizza and are curled up against one arm of the couch. Yao’s in his arms, and he can’t believe it, but it’s a thing. It’s real. He’s apparently going to be allowed to do this when just two weeks ago he didn’t imagine this could be a thing.

“Oh come on, you are totally checking out his guns.”

“He doesn’t have any guns, Alfred.”

“No, his muscles. His shoulders and junk.”

“Ah,” Yao laughed. “You seem to be quite taken with Steve’s body yourself, Alfred. Should I be jealous?”

“Yes, totally jealous.”

Yao pats his leg. “All right, I’m jealous. Now shush, something important is happening.”

Alfred doesn’t have the heart to tell Yao that that something important isn’t going to stop happening for the rest of the movie.

“Oh no, his little friend!” Yao says when Steve goes to rescue Bucky.

This is such a change from the cool Yao he’s met at the clubs, and the geeky Yao he’s met with Leon. From the Yao who was holding his cock in his hands and telling him he was a good boy. He wonders which one is the real Yao, the one underneath it all. He wonders which Yao he likes best as Yao tenses up in his arms during dramatic moments, and rubs at Alfred’s thigh absently mindedly during less tense moments.

Alfred has to bite back the urge to tell Yao that Bucky is alive when he gets all teary eyed when Bucky ends up falling off the train. Alfred doesn’t know if he can like Yao more than in that moment when he’s looking like that over Bucky Barnes.

And he’s surprised at himself because he knows he wants Yao, but he didn’t know he liked him too. Maybe a relationship between them can work?

The movie ends, and Yao wipes at his eyes.

“It’s a good thing I knew that he lived! What a sad fate though…”

Alfred nods. When he and Angie had went to go see it in the theatre a few years back, they’d been in tears. The movie always gets to him and he can’t help it.

“Yeah, Angie really likes Steve too.”

“I can see why! She has good taste.”

“Yeah, she really does.”

Yao turns in his arms, and looks really seriously at him, “Alfred…”

“Oh, he’s still here?” Alfred looks past Yao to the living room entrance. Matthew’s standing there with an raised eyebrow. “Sorry, I’ll be in my room. Don’t mind me.”

Yao laughs. “Hello, Matthew.”

“Hey, Yao. But yeah, room, don’t mind me.” Matthew waves and disappears.

Alfred sighs, and Yao kisses him briefly.

“I’m going to go now,” Yao says. “It must be late if your brother is back. You said he was coming back around two?”

“Yeah, I mean if you want to you can like stay the night?”

Yao detaches himself from Alfred and stands up, fixing his hair, “I’m going to go home, and then we can talk tomorrow.”

“All right,” Alfred sits up, and Yao leans down to kiss him again.

“Don’t look like that, handsome. I’ll text you once I’m home. How about that?”

“Okay, yeah that works.” Alfred tries to hide his disappointment, and mostly succeeds because Yao smiles at him.

“See me to the door?”

“Yeah.”

Yao puts on his shoes and then tugs Alfred down for a kiss. “I’ll text you when I’m home and we can talk tomorrow. There’s things we need to discuss.”

That sounds… promising. Worrying more like. But Alfred kisses Yao back, and says, “All right.”

Yao smiles at him. “Good boy. I’ll talk with you really soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So did you know? I only edit when I'm exhausted. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy...this. 
> 
> Whatever this is.


	9. alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I detailed in [this post](https://keiimos.tumblr.com/post/159999795686/) I'm removing explicit sexual content from this story. As such Chapter 9 has been reposted and edited to align more with my new goals for this story going forward.
> 
> I'm not lowering the rating though since I do think the overall content isn't suited for those under 18! 
> 
> Please enjoy.

Matthew reminds Alfred that they have to order the cupcakes for Angie’s party that upcoming weekend while he’s making his way out the door. Yao has invited him over to his house for lunch, and Alfred is just trying to get there before he changes his mind.

“Okay, I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Don’t forget,” Matthew says. Alfred waves him off and heads out the door. The bad thing about the new neighborhood is that there’s not a bus stop really close to his front door and he has to learn a whole new route. But other than that, it’s fine. He’s fine. He catches a bus and then walks the rest of the way to Yao’s place.

* * *

 

Yao opens the door when he rings the doorbell and studies him for a moment.

“We’re getting you a car,” he says when Alfred’s taking off his shoes.

“Why? Don’t need one yet. Gotta wait and see if I’ma need a van for Angie and her chair or what.” He runs fingers through his blond hair and looks around curiously. “Did it come pre furnished?”

“Yes. Want a tour?” Yao closes and locks the door behind him.

“Yeah, sure.” Alfred wonders if Leon is around before remembering that Leon told him that he was going to be in New York with Mei. Leon also specifically asked Alfred that if he came over and he and Yao broke the house in to leave his room and the family room out of it.

“There’s four bedrooms and as many bathrooms,” Yao says. “Two bedrooms upstairs, one on this floor, and one in the basement. Leon’s downstairs because he’s such a teenager, and I’m on this floor.”

“Seems an awful lot of space for two guys,” Alfred says as Yao shows him the living room and then the dining room. They pause in the kitchen and Yao thinks on that.

“Our house growing up was bigger, so I’m used to it.”

“Oh right, big family.”

“Something like that,” Yao says. “That’s the backyard, and the garden that I had to hire someone to maintain.”

“Not good with plants, Yao?” Alfred looks outside the backdoor that Yao has opened, and takes a quick peek. It looks lush and pretty and inviting. There’s a swing surrounded by roses. Angie would like it, he thinks.

“Not particularly, no,” Yao says. “Downstairs or upstairs?”

“What’s upstairs?”

“Just the two bedrooms. I made one into my home office.”

“Downstairs?”

“Family room with gaming tables, and Leon’s room.”

Alfred laughs. “I think I’ll pass.”

“All right,” Yao says. “Then have a seat and I’ll start on lunch while we talk.”

“What’s for lunch?” Alfred settles down at the kitchen island and Yao starts pulling things out of the fridge. The kitchen is massive, needless to say. Very high tech and fancy. Alfred feels slight envy but he’s not a good cook, so it doesn’t last long.

“Stir fry,” Yao says. “Easy enough to make so we can talk while I cook.”

“I honestly didn’t know you could cook. What else can you make?”

“A rather lot. I specialize in Chinese cuisine though. Do you cook, Alfred?” Yao arranges a cutting board on his side of the island and starts cutting up chicken breast.

“Not much. Francis was talking about teaching me but,” Alfred shrugs. “Well, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. What happened? Bonnefoy loves teaching people so I’m surprised that he didn’t teach you!”

“He’s always busy, and when we were hanging out, he just wanted to relax and such. So cooking isn’t what I’d want to do if I were relaxing, so yeah!”

“Odd,” Yao says. “But all right.”

“You didn’t bring me here to talk about Francis, though, so what’s up? What’s on your mind, Yao?”

Yao smiles at him. “You.”

Alfred looks away, and Yao laughs.

“I’m being serious, Yao,” he complains.

“So am I.” Yao turns to the sink and washes down the cutting board before bringing it back to the island and starts to chop up a variety of vegetables, some of which Alfred doesn’t even recognize. “I’m just happy talking to you about whatever does come to mind. We have time, Alfred.”

“Mhm, yeah that’s true I guess!”

“You guess?” Yao laughed. “We have time.”

Yeah, Alfred guesses that they do. Unlike with Francis there’s no real… end in sight for this thing with Yao? He guesses Yao meant for it to be that way. He wants Alfred to think about ‘us’; them as a concept. And Alfred has been thinking about it. He’s been thinking a lot since that mind blowing experience against the wall. He was not expecting Yao to take charge like that and… well…  

And now he’s sitting in Yao’s kitchen watching him cook. It feels surreal, and yet, it seems like it’s exactly where he should be. So Alfred relaxes and watches Yao cook, and he smiles.

* * *

 

Over lunch, Yao asks him questions about Angie and Matthew, and Alfred answers them readily enough. He likes talking about his sister and brother.

“Yeah, we were like nine when she was born, you know? She used to like follow us around when she was a baby. It was cute. It was annoying at the time, but it’s cute now.”

“Sounds adorable. Do you have photos of her from when she was younger?”

“They’re all packed up right now, but we have loads. Mom loved taking photos.”

“I want to see,” Yao says. “I bet you were adorable too.”

“Sure, next time you come over Matty should have those unpacked.”

“And not you?”

“Ehhhh, I don’t know where they are? He does!”

Yao laughs, and Alfred grins.

“What about your family? Do you have photos?”

Yao is silent for a moment. “I’m sure we do. I’ll ask my sister to send some over to me so I can show you.”

“Oh, you don’t need to go that far—”

“No, I want to.”

Alfred feels his cheeks flushing so he looks down into his stir fry, and grins. “All right.” He actually pays attention to what he’s eating now and can’t help his pleased sigh. “This is really good! It almost tastes like a professional made it.”

“Well I am a professional, so that’s not surprising.”

Alfred’s mid bite, but he looks up and just thinks back over all he knows about Yao. Most of it concerns his writing and journalism, but there’s little about his education, his family… so he’s not sure if he should go _I don’t believe you_ or ask for clarification, because what? What does that even mean.

“You look surprised.” Yao leans forward from his side of the table and Alfred focuses back on him. “I’m not just a journalist, Alfred. I went to school for my family’s business but I ended up leaving before too long due to journalism being more of my calling.”

“What business?” Alfred tries not to ask too many questions, but sometimes lack of knowledge can lead to trouble. Who is Yao to just say _family business_ and leave it at that?

“How did you think Mr. Bonnefoy and I know each other, Alfred?”

“I…” Alfred pauses because he never thought about that. He hadn’t cared to think about it. Hadn’t allowed himself. Caring was dangerous, but he is now already in trouble. He is already in this for better or worse. “How do you know each other, Yao?”

Yao sips from his glass and then refills it as he says, “We’re in the same field. I don’t directly operate my family’s restaurants, but I do have a sizeable interest in it.”

“Restaurants?”

“They have different names and there’s quite a few….but Cháng Chéng Cuisine is my family’s managing company.”

Alfred just holds up a hand for Yao to be quiet, because what? None of this had been on the wikipedia page he’d pulled up. Yao’s name was known worldwide due to his journalism, not due to being in a restaurant family. He doesn’t know how to react to this new information.

“You really didn’t know?” Yao finally asks after continued silence. “Let’s take a walk, Alfred.”

Alfred just touches the spot where his bracelet once sat. That bracelet that had lead to yesterday’s… experience. “Where will we walk?”

“I can show you the backyard properly.” Yao goes to the doors and slides them open. “Will you join me?”

Alfred looks at Yao. Light is streaming in, making Yao’s brown hair redder than usual, but maybe being outside will help refocus him. This new information is a lot to take in. Alfred can’t help but feel overwhelmed, but when is he not?

“Yes.”

 

* * *

 

“Where do I start?” Yao asks once they’ve stepped outside.

“The beginning would be nice.”

Yao laughs and then takes his hand. “The beginning it is.”

Cháng Chéng Cuisine is managed full time by his younger half brother, Kiku, Yao explains. Alfred remembers how Leon said Kiku and Yao didn’t get along as Yao moves into talking about the situation around Kiku and him. “We had a disagreement about who should run the business once Mother stepped down a few years ago. Kiku insisted I wasn’t the best fit given I hadn’t officially completed my studies and hadn’t been that interested before. Can you imagine what it feels to be stripped of your birthright?”

Alfred is the middle child, so no he can’t imagine. But he is curious to know at least one thing from Yao.

“Do you hate him?” Alfred looks at Yao who pauses on the spiral stone path. It leads to the swing at the back of the yard, and every so often Yao pauses to touch some of the blooming roses.

“I’m mostly disappointed now.” Yao sucks a finger into his mouth, clearly cut on one of the rose’s thorns. “He took advantage of our mother’s fondness for him and used it to his advantage. I can’t fault him too much for that, but being undermined did make me angry at the time. Our feuding caused our mother such distress she refuses to talk to any of us. She sent Leon off to England and she and Leon’s father, Mr. Miller, stopped talking to us.”

“Even to Leon?” Is that why he was being bounced from sibling to sibling? One day Alfred was getting texts from New York and the next from England. “I know he visits Mei in New York a lot, but come to think of it I’ve never heard him mentioning visiting his parents or Kiku.”

“He and Mei are probably the only ones who could reach our mother, actually. The privilege of neutrality.” Yao looks at his finger and then sighs. “Our mother can hold a grudge, but I hope she’ll reconsider things soon. Hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” Alfred echoes. He can’t help but miss his mother something fierce.

“Of course, that doesn’t compare to what you’ve experienced. My situation is petty family feuds.” Yao starts back walking, and on the curved path behind the swing, he says, “Money ruins more than it helps. Will you sit with me, Alfred?”

Alfred comes around the bend and joins Yao on the swing. The sun’s high, but the swing is set underneath a gazebo so it’s cool. Money ruins things in Yao’s world, but Alfred can’t relate. He wouldn’t be here if not for money even as much as he is attracted to Yao. Yao’s entire situation is more than he can even begin to fully understand.

The swing starts swaying, and he’s wrapped an arm around Yao before he lets himself think about that. Yao laughs, looking at him like this is where he wants to be. Alfred squeezes him for a moment and doesn’t pull away. Attraction he can handle, attraction he understands. He remembers yesterday in the living room and he starts to lean in.   

“You have the prettiest eyes,” Yao says, and he’s not pulling away, just smiling as if he can read Alfred’s mind or something. “I wonder if the world looks differently, more brighter to you than me?”

Alfred can’t help his laugh at that. Does the work look brighter to him? “Dunno.” His world had been pretty gray for a while now, but looking at Yao in this shaded gazebo, he can’t help but think out loud, “Maybe. Sometimes.”  

He kisses Yao. Can’t help but kiss him. It’s not like the first time they kissed in that private room at the club. Yao just tastes more familiar now, less alien. Now, their kiss feels like a promise, a hint of more to come, the abstract of a report Alfred is about to unpack.

There’s fingers in his hair, and he lets Yao because they have time. They have all the time in the world. Yes, he has question, and Yao needs to give him more answers, but things are starting to make more sense. Yao being in a family of million — no, probably billionaires combined with his own job? It starts adding up. He can relax and not worry he’s bleeding this silly man dry.

What was it Yao had said? That he wanted to let Alfred relax and focus on just them?

So when Yao pulls back and goes, “My room, handsome?”

All Alfred can say is, “Sure, okay.”

Yao tugs him up, and he makes a mental note to text Matthew to let him know he won’t be home tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was honestly overwhelmed by the comments last update received. I would like to thank everyone for commenting, I honestly wasn't aware so many folks liked it! 
> 
> I'm going to continue working on this story in my spare time, so please keep in mind that I'm leading a full life outside of fanfic writing! Alfred and Yao are always in my heart though! 
> 
> Also... 谢谢您的阅读 !!! I have other things I want to say but I'm working with a friend to say it properly!
> 
> -Kei


	10. calm

Alfred gets a call from Francis when he’s on his way into the store to place the order for Angie’s cupcakes.

“Good morning, cher.”

“Hey, Francis! Are you doing okay?"

“I’m fine, Alfred. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad moment?”

“No, just heading to the bakery for Angel’s cupcakes. What’s up?”

“I was just checking in on you. We haven’t talked in a week or so and I was concerned. How are _you_ doing?”

Francis is way too sweet and way too nice for Alfred to keep lying to him. When the other man had asked him why he was breaking things off, Alfred had given vague explanations about how it was hurting his conscience to take money from Francis when he didn’t feel like he was really doing much for him. Francis had protested, but agreed at last to breaking it off. He told Alfred to keep the money and clothes he’d given him — he basically begged him to. Francis cares so much and Alfred doesn't know how to keep this act up.

“I’m fine now. We moved into a new place so sorry for not contacting you before now…”

“You moved? Does that mean that young Angelique is getting out?”

“No, um, not yet.”

“Then why the move?”

Alfred shrugs, and then remembers that Francis can’t see that. “I was tired of where we were living.”

“All right,” Francis says, and he sounds so concerned that Alfred feels so fucking guilty. “I did call for another reason though. Is it still alright if I take you to dinner next week for your birthday? I’d rather not cancel the reservations but I can find someone else. But since it was originally meant for you… well.”

Francis doesn’t know about Yao, Alfred realizes. Yao probably hasn’t gone around bragging about how he snatched Alfred from Francis, and Alfred never mentioned Yao. Francis thinks he’s still single, and Alfred’s so far from being single that it’s laughable.

“Um, yeah, I have to check with my…” What is Yao to Alfred? Lover? Boyfriend? Sugar Daddy? All of the above? “My partner.”

There’s a noticeable pause on Francis’s end, and then he says, “Partner?”

“Yeah, I’m… seeing someone who can get a bit… he… they might not want me seeing you in that type of situation, considering what we used to be.”

“No, no that’s understandable. I just wasn’t aware you had found someone so fast.”

Considering that it’s been less than two weeks since they broke up, Alfred guesses that would seem fast to Francis. “Yeah! It’s been interesting. I’m just as surprised as you are honestly.”

“Who’s the lucky person?”

“Um,” Alfred says. And then because he can’t stand to keep secrets from Francis for much longer, because he honestly does value their friendship, he says, “Yao, actually.”

Francis is so silent that Alfred stops walking and ducks into the cereal aisle. He waits for Francis to say anything, and even checks to be sure that he’s still on the phone. He is but he’s just being very quiet. Alfred hears the click of a lighter, and he breathes out a sigh of relief.

“You’re dating Wang?” Francis says finally.

“Yeah.”

“Hm.”

“Um-are you mad?”

“Mad?” Francis laughs. “No, but yes, talk to Wang and then back to me about whether or not we can go to dinner next week.”

“Okay, I’ll do that.” He and Francis exchange a few more words, and then the other man ends the call.

Alfred has really fucked up.

* * *

 

Cupcake order secured, Alfred makes his way back to the new apartment. He spent the night at Yao’s and now has to think about how best to call him or text him after having the other man drop him off at the store. The Francis Situation has to be dealt with as soon as humanly possible. Francis deserves that much. He had been a good man to Alfred.

“Uggghhhh, MATTHEW!!!” he calls out when he gets into the apartment.

“WHAT?” Matthew yells back from his room.

“IT’S A CRISIS. A LIFE ENDING EMERGENCY. WE NEED TO PREPARE.”

“WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?”

“GET YOUR ASS INTO THE LIVING ROOM SO WE CAN DISCUSS.”

“God,” Matthew says a few minutes later. “What’s the problem, dude?”

“Francis knows.”

“About?”

“Yao.”

“Well, fuck. How did he find out?”

“I might have told him?”

“You really are dumb.” Matthew settles down on the couch and crosses his legs. “Wow, I like… didn’t think you were this stupid. Why would you tell your old Sugar Daddy about your new one? Especially given that they’re friends? Didn’t you think about the problems this would cause?”

“Oh come off it. He was going to find out eventually, _especially_ because they’re friends. Yao doesn’t seem like he plans on hiding the fact that we’re together.”

“You’re kinda screwed, Alfred. How did Francis take it?”

“He said he wasn’t mad and wanted to know if we’re still meeting for dinner next week for my birthday like we planned a month ago. Only I don’t know if Yao’s going to let me go— ”

“Let you go?” Matthew raises both eyebrows. “Alfred you’re about to be twenty-one. He can’t just tell you that you can’t see someone.”

“I mean,” Alfred pauses. What did he mean? Did he really think that Yao would keep him from seeing Francis? His pause doesn’t go unnoticed by Matthew who now crosses his arms.

“Alfred, what even is going on in your head?”

“Ugh, I don’t know!” Alfred sighs and rubs his face in frustration. “Just you know, sometimes people don’t like their partners meeting up with their exes.”

“Yao can’t be that insecure to think that you’re going to give up fifteen thousand dollars a month just to sleep with Francis again. You’re overthinking it.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Alfred laughs.

“Plus you wouldn’t cheat cuz you’re like in love with the guy so there’s that.”

“I am not in love with Yao.”

“Say that to the Yao Wang Shrine.”

“It’s not even put up!”

“...meaning that you intend to. Oh, Alfred, you have it bad. Aren’t those… hickeys on you enough to prove that you got the guy? Please don’t put up the Yao Wang Shrine.”

“S’not a shrine for the last time.”

Matthew just looks at him, and Alfred sighs.

“So, yeah,” Matthew says, “just call Yao if you’re that worried. I’m sure he’ll tell you that it’s okay.”

“Okay,” Alfred says. “I’ll call Yao.”

* * *

 

That is easier said than done. How will Yao react to Alfred’s… request? He stresses himself out over it as he helps Matthew unpack the apartment until Matt leaves for hockey practice.

“Please make sure to call Yao,” Matthew reminds before going. Alfred makes no promises.

He stands in what’s meant to be Angie’s room with his phone. There’s not even a bed in it. They had put most of her stuff in storage after they lost the house. They can probably move most of the stuff to the new place, right? Or is that too soon, too risky?

Alfred doesn’t know. He leans against her window and pulls up Yao’s name in his phone.

“Alfred!” Yao seems really pleased to hear from him. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Alfred rubs a worn spot in his jeans idly as he says, “Nothing much. Just had a question to ask.”

“Well ask and I’ll try my best to answer it for you.”

“So… you know how I broke up with Francis to be with you and all that junk? Well, my birthday’s next week and we had made plans ages ago that he was going to take me out to dinner. He doesn’t want to cancel the reservations, and I don’t blame him. The restaurant is like, really great. So, is it cool with you if I go with him? It’s on the third, not the fourth since that’s such a busy day!” Message delivered. He waits.

“Your birthday is next week?” Yao asks, which is you know, the wrong thing to be asking, but whatever.

“Yeah, on the fourth.”

“Really?” Yao… Alfred can’t put a word on it, but his voice makes Alfred uneasy.

Alfred squeezes his phone tightly before he puts Yao on speakerphone as he leans his head back. “Yea.”

“I wasn’t aware that your birthday was coming up so soon. You mentioned Angelique’s but not your own.”

“I mean, it’s not a big deal, we’re just going to do what we always do so.”

“Which is?”

“Barbeque outside of Lars’s place and fireworks at night.”

“All right,” Yao says, and then nothing more. It’s making Alfred pace until Yao speaks again. “That aside, Bonnefoy invited you to dinner, you said?”

“Um, yeah, and I told him the truth about us. That we’re together.”

“You hadn’t before?” Yao mutters something and then says, “That’s fine. So, he wants to take you to dinner?”

“Yeah, and is that fine by you? I told him I had to ask.”

“Alfred,” that call of his name sends a thrill right down his spine, for reasons he’s not too sure about. “Handsome, you don’t need my permission to meet with your friends.”

Alfred pauses, and stares at his hands, and then at the phone. “Even though he used to be my Sugar Daddy?”

“Bonnefoy is way too honorable a man to make a move on you knowing that you’re taken. And besides, you wouldn’t let him, would you, aì’ren?”

Alfred takes a deep breath and then goes, “Even though you did? Even though I let you?”

“Alfred, are you planning on getting back together with Bonnefoy next week? Do you want me to tell you that you aren’t allowed to meet with him?”

“What? No! I just… these are some valid concerns, all right?” Why does Yao have to make everything so difficult? Alfred sighs and rubs at his face. No, he’s the one making things weird and difficult. Better to just admit to why he feels weird, right? “I just… I feel bad, all right? I ended things with him without really telling him why and then I got with you behind his back. That’s like against the bro code or something.”

“Bro code.”

“Yeah, you know, rules for how to be a cool bro and—   _listen,_ I’m pretty sure that dating your ex’s friends is pretty against the rules.”

“So according to this code we shouldn’t be dating?”

Alfred doesn’t know why, but hearing Yao call what they’re doing ‘dating’ doesn’t sit right with him. “N-not that we are dating. We’re just… doing a thing.”

“A thing,” Yao repeats. “All right, very well. How about this? You can go to dinner with Francis if you let me take you shopping that morning.”

“I-what? I thought you said I didn’t need to ask for permission!”

“You don’t, but now you have me concerned. So, those are my terms, Alfred.”

“Um, whatever dude.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Damn, sure it’s a fucking yes.”

“ _Language,_ Alfred. I’m glad we’ve settled that, and I’ll see you next week. Call or text me if anything comes up before then.”

“Wait, you don’t wanna see me this week?”

“I told you in the car this morning that I have to fly to Beijing this week for a few days. I should be back by the 30th.”

“Oh, right,” Alfred says. He forgot, it seems, after that really passionate kiss that Yao had planted on him before letting him leave the car. “So, are you… mad at me?”

“Handsome, we’re fine. I’ll see you either on the third or before it. How’s that? And I’ll text you back if you text me.”

“Okay,” Alfred says.

“Have a nice rest of the day, Alfred. I’ll be flying out this evening so I’ll be largely unavailable till I land.”

“Yeah, I getcha. See ya, Yao.”

* * *

 

He’s fucked up, hasn’t he? The two other men had said that they weren’t mad, but they’re totally mad. He sends Francis a text instead of calling and just gets a one worded acknowledgement of their plans. Yeah, he’s really fucked up.

He sighs and busies himself around the house by unpacking. Before he knows it, like six hours have passed and he’s unpacked the kitchen, the living room, and most of his room. He’s standing in front of a box that says _The Shrine_ in big letters (Matthew’s doing. Fuck him) and he doesn’t know if he can bring himself to open it.

Maybe he should toss it? But that’s several hundred sheets of paper that would go to waste, plus all his careful notes. He decides to stick it underneath his bed for now. After that he’s at a loss for what to do, so he goes into the living room and finds the photo album he unearthed and starts going through it.

This turns out to be a very bad idea.

Seeing the pictures of them before _,_ when he already feels like shit, hurts.

Here’s Angie when she first learned to walk and now Alfred remembers her following him around _everywhere_. He can’t help his smile at that.

Here’s Alfred and Matthew at their thirteenth birthday party.

Then him and Matthew at Six Flags America.

His mom at the hospital with him after he broke his arm in the seventh grade.

Here’s his dad and Angie when she went to her first girl scout meeting.

Them all at Angie’s first swim meet when she placed bronze.

Angie when she placed gold when she was only 10.

His mom and dad on their anniversary.

Then the pictures just stop, and the remainder of the album is blank. His mom isn’t there to maintain it anymore, and his dad isn’t there to take the photos. They’re not there, and his family is so broken it hurts.

Alfred falls asleep leaning against the couch with tears in his eyes.

 

He’s distantly aware of someone helping him to his bed, and a soft voice saying, “Oh, Alfie.”

* * *

 

The next day, he goes and gets tested for sexually transmitted illnesses at the local clinic and the lady tells him that he’ll have his results within two weeks. He hopes that Yao still wants him in two weeks. He texts Yao that he went and gets a reply a few hours later of, “Great!” and some characters in Chinese. He smiles to his phone. Maybe Yao isn’t too upset with him for wanting to hang out with Francis? Maybe they’ll be okay? He doesn’t know.

* * *

 

The weekend is clear and bright, as it should be for Angie’s celebration. Lars and some of the girls from the bar show up to help celebrate. The nurses let him and Matt decorate, and Angie’s glowing when she sees everything and everyone. Last year, she had been in too much pain for celebrations, but this year she’s made so much progress that Alfred wants her to have this.

They’re all wearing flower crowns and taking selfies, and Francis and Yao are very far from Alfred’s mind. Angie looks so damn alive and Matthew looks so happy that Alfred knows he’s done well.

During a lull in people coming to congratulate Angie on a year well done, Angie looks up at him and waves him down to her level.

“What’s up, shortcake?”

“Gross,” Angie says. “But where’s Francis? Matty bought Lars…”

“Oh,” Alfred says, and then _shit_ , he thinks. “We broke up, Angel.”

“Oh no! You seemed so happy. I’m so sorry, Alfie.” She looks heartbroken and sad, and Alfred presses a kiss to her hand.

“It’s okay. Sometimes these things just don’t work out. S’no one’s fault if they don’t.”

“Alfred Frederick Jones, when did you grow up on me?” Angie says, patting his face. “I remember when Kristen knocked your teeth out and broke up with you— ”

“You were like five, how do you remember that?”

She winks at him. He laughs.

Things might not be all right like they used to be, but he’ll deal. He’s been dealing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (大家好!我是Kei的朋友, Kyrie, 但您也可以叫我乐乐。虽然我的华语不擅长, 我还是会努力的帮Kei和读者们翻译!
> 
> 读者们好。我是舒淇；我也是Kei 的朋友。有些以下的段落是我好朋友翻译。如果有什么错误，请原谅我们。)
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has read this and left comments! I was unprepared for such enthusiasm and I’m really happy. I’m also aware there’s many who did not or could not comment so I wanted to say a few things in Chinese.  
> 谢谢读者们的支持！我没想到自己的故事会得到那么多的评估和兴趣，真的好开心和感动。我也了解有些读者不能写评估，所以我想和读者们说几句话。
> 
> I cannot speak/read Chinese but I have some friends who can and are willing to translate for me. If you find that you can comment easier in Chinese feel free to do so. Please keep your language in standard Mandarin with as little slang as possible, as none of my friends are from the mainland and don’t know many slang terms.  
> 我不能说也不会阅读中文，但是我有一些朋友愿意帮我翻译。如果你觉得用中文来留言对你来说比较容易的话，可以用中文来给我留言。但是尽量不要用缩写。因为那些帮我翻译的朋友不是来自中国，所以可能不明白你所用的缩写或简称)
> 
> I’m glad that this story that I’ve posted and reposted many times has continued to be so well liked by Western and Eastern fandoms as well. My greatest joy as a writer is being able to reach across dividing lines! If you find it easier to leave a comment in Chinese than English, please do so. Your kind words are appreciated. 
> 
> 我很庆幸我所上载的故事 （Taking The Last Train Home) 得到许多东方以及西方读者的青睐，为此我感到无比自豪。作为一名作者，我觉得最大的收获是我的小说能得到大家的共识。能够联结不同方的人是我当作者的最高的喜悦，感谢大家的支持。如果大家觉得用英文留言有些不便的话，可以用中文来留言。
> 
> A year ago I was asked if someone could translate this work and post it on their site for the Chinese fandom. I said no and afterwards put a universal ban on translations of all my fanworks. Today I’m going to change my policy on that. 
> 
> 一年前有一位读者要求否能把这篇小说翻译成中文，而发帖在自己的网站。我坚决反对并放了他人翻译的禁止令。可是从今天起，我会收回那禁止令，再做一些政策的改变。
> 
>  
> 
> If you are fluent in Chinese and English and would like to work with me on translating this, you may message me on @keiimos ([twitter](https://twitter.com/keiimos) or [tumblr](https://keiimos.tumblr.com/))! I have a few rules that I will need to be followed though. 
> 
> 如果你英语和华语都流利，而且想要合作一起翻译这篇小说的话，请私讯我 @keiimos （[推特](https://twitter.com/keiimos)或则[Tumblr](https://keiimos.tumblr.com/)）！记得，前提是必须精通英语以及华文。翻译之前我也有一些条件必须说明才能进行这项计划。
> 
>  
> 
> 有些规则:  
> ✦Translator must be over 18.  
> ✧有意者必须是18岁以上
> 
> ✦Posting will only be allowed on sites that I and the translator can both edit. This can be on archiveofourown (AO3) or on a shared tumblr blog. Posting my works anywhere else is not allowed.  
> ✧只能在我(作者)和翻译者两人能编辑的网站发帖。我不应许这篇小说被上载到其他的网址。所以有意者只能和我并同在archiveofourown (AO3)或者共同的Tumblr博客中做出这篇小说的更改。
> 
> ✦All translations must be approved by me before chapters are posted. My author’s notes must be translated as well as they provide context.  
> ✧有意者也需要翻译作者的便条。愿意是它提供读者我写这篇文章段时想表达的含义以及心情。上载翻译的成品之前，每一章必须经过我的批准。
> 
> ✦Please be aware that new chapters aren’t coming on a scheduled basis as I have a busy life. Don’t pressure me for more.  
> ✧因为我的行程有些忙碌，请了解新章不会更着一个进度表；新的文章不能及时上载。请大家了解，不要催我。
> 
> If you can adhere to these policies, please message me.  
> 如果能同意遵守以上所要求的条件，请与我私信。
> 
>  
> 
> Kei


	11. storm

Alfred can’t help but feel weird, out of place, as the weekend slides past and the 3rd greets him. There’s fucking up, and then there’s _fucking up_. Alfred feels like he’s ruined everything. Panic is just itching at the back of his head, and he hates it.

So he greets the 3rd back, he tries to welcome it like an old friend, with a loud “Good morning,” and is rewarded with Lars’ naked ass walking past his cracked door, saying “Morning,” back to his shout.

 _Okay_ , he thinks, and his fingers go to his wrist, but nothing’s there. Yao had been right in that it wasn’t right to wear a memento of Francis while with him… but he can’t help but miss the familiar comforting weight. There’s nothing he can do to fix that, so he goes and takes a shower.

The shower helps enough and he comes out and lets Lars mess up his artfully styled hair, and he even lets Matt get in a few pre-birthday hits before they end up wrestling on the floor for a good five minutes while Matt lets the pancakes burn.

It’s familiar. It’s comforting.

It’s home.

Their parents are gone, and Angie’s hurt, and it’s not like it used to be, but seeing Matt smile as he scrapes burned batter into the trashcan makes Alfred feel something like hope.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and he starts to panic, because how could he have fucked up so much that all of peace, their comfort might be at stake? What if Yao calls it off? What if, what if… keeps playing in his mind, and he fails to muster up a smile for Yao when he opens the door for him.

“What’s wrong, handsome?”

There’s a lot wrong, so Alfred offers him a thin smile. “Can we go now?”

Yao looks considering, and then glances back into the apartment before agreeing. Al calls out goodbyes to Matt and Lars (who has put on pants) and then slides into Yao’s car with a sigh.

It takes him a few moments to realize that Yao hasn’t turned on the car and is just watching him.

Alfred barely grumbles out a quiet, “What?” when Yao still doesn’t even put the keys into the ignition.

“Do you think I’m upset with you?” Yao doesn’t wait for a response before settling a hand on his knee. “It would take a lot to get rid of me now— well, unless you told me to leave you alone, of course.”

Alfred looks at Yao’s hand on his knee and then looks at Yao. “Then what did you request to see me today for?” Request is a light word for what was basically an order, honestly, but Alfred doesn’t want to start anything. He just wants answers, to provide some clarity on their situation.

“Because you had me concerned, and… I haven’t seen you in over a week. Are you saying that you didn’t miss me, Alfred?” Yao’s hand had moved up and then back down and he had Alfred’s full attention as he looked at him.

Did he miss Yao? Alfred thinks about that. They had gone from nightly chats or sleepovers to radio silence while Yao was in China. It had left him uneasy, and he’d been worried about this whole situation. It drove home how hopeless he felt, and reminded him of that earlier desperation that had lead to him contacting Francis in the first place.

He never wants to go back to being that desperate again.

Yao is patiently waiting on an answer, but Alfred doesn’t know what to say. All he knows is that sometimes when Yao touches him, when they fuck, Alfred can stop thinking for a while. Can disconnect, just relax, and not worry about whatever is going wrong in his life outside of Yao’s bedroom (or living room, or kitchen that one time… ).

Alfred doesn’t answer that question, just settles his hand on Yao’s hand and gives it a squeeze. “Let’s go to your place.” He can hear the smile in Yao’s voice as he pulls his hand away long enough to start the car, say, “Okay,” before offering his hand back.

Alfred takes it and can’t bring himself to let go.

* * *

 

Everything hurts and aches, and Alfred’s not sure he wants to leave Yao’s bed for a week while he licks his wounds, heals up from the cane Yao’s put away. Yao’s apologized, cleaned his back up, even put bandages were they were needed and then settled back down on the bed. Alfred’s on his stomach so he doesn’t even realize Yao’s lit up a cigarette until the smoke wafts down to him. He groans and shifts on his side to frown up at him.

“Is this bothering you?” Yao asks, and he looks untouchable in his black silk robe all tied up like that. Alfred settles a hand on his knee and slides it up, watching it part for him, and then glancing up at Yao. Yao who still has a cigarette in hand, and is just watching him, waiting.

Alfred has no more energy left, so he just lets his hand rest there as he says, “Yes. It’s gonna kill you, you know?”

“We’re all gonna die someday, aren’t we? Some of us sooner than later,” Yao says. Alfred just keeps looking at him, squeezing his knee hard. Yao seems to think about what he’s not saying, before he takes another hit, and then leans back to exhale away from Alfred. “Are you asking me to quit?” Yao looks back down at Alfred, and smiles, a full blown cocky grin. “Or are you telling me to quit?”

Alfred thinks about his grandfather passing away in such a terrifying manner, and there’s only one answer, isn’t there? “Telling you to quit.”

“Okay,” Yao says. He shifts over and puts his cigarette out against the ashtray. Alfred barely has time for a comeback when Yao’s shifting onto his side and pressing close against Alfred. Yao touches his bare chest as if he wants to map it out, as if there’s a braille message hidden on his chest. Alfred has to catch his attention before Yao finally asks, “What will I get as a reward for quitting?”

“Healthy lungs?” Yao’s fingers are distracting but his pointedly careless, “Hmm,” tells Alfred that reward isn’t good enough. So he thinks as Yao feels him up as he rests against the bed, careful not to move onto his back, and finally asks, “What would you like as a reward?”

The smile Yao gives him is dangerous. It’s just full of promises, intentions, things Alfred can’t even give voice to but he wants them all. Every single weird, twisted little thing Yao’s asked from him so far has only been fun. He trusts him to keep being fun.

“Okay,” Alfred says, even though Yao hasn’t named his price.

Yao laughs, and Alfred finally lets himself admit he missed him.

“You’re so good to me,” Yao kisses his chest, and then his neck, and when he finally kisses Alfred, all he can think is _I can be._

_I want to be._

* * *

 

Yao’s dropping him back off at his place with a bag full of clothes that he hasn’t had time to see, and a bruised back when he realizes that they never talked about Francis. All they’d done was go to Yao’s place, fuck, Yao handed him gifts from China, and although the original plan had been to go shopping, Yao hadn’t seemed to mind.

“You know I’m meeting Francis tonight,” Alfred warns as he lets Yao into his apartment. Lars’ car isn’t parked out front and the lights are out in most of the place. Yao makes himself at home on the couch. “That’s okay with you?”

“Alfred,” Yao says, and he sounds stern as he shifts to put his elbows on the back of the couch and watch Alfred in the hallway. “You can do whatever you want with your friends. You keep asking like you expect me to say ‘no.’ If you don’t want to meet with Bonnefoy, don’t.”

Yao’s right… he doesn’t have to go. But he wants to. He just doesn’t want Yao to be mad, or Francis to get hurt, but Yao looks content on his couch, and Francis… well he’ll just have to find out when they meet up. Alfred sighs. He needs to just focus on what he can control, and let go of what he can’t. What he can do is go and get ready and see what Yao plans on doing for the rest of the night, if they can see each other once he’s done with Francis.

“I’m going to go try on what you bought me from China.”

“There’s a box in there, open that first, handsome, tell me if it suits you.”

Expecting a suit jacket or something, Alfred shrugs and goes into his room. Yao doesn’t follow which he thinks is strange. Off. Weird. He dumps the clothes on his bed but there’s no bo— there is a box. A small black box hidden under some silk blue shirt and a red silk shirt. He doesn’t know what to make of it but Yao did ask that he open it first. He kneels next to the bed and looks at the box. There’s not even an imprint to indicate who made it. Usually jewelers do that, right?

Why is he so nervous about this box? It’s not small enough to be a ring box, and yet it’s a pretty decent sized box. It fits neatly into the flat of his hand. It’s just a box.

Alfred opens the box.

The first thing he sees is red. Red stones for a silver dragon’s eyes. It looks so fragile, he’s afraid to lift it out of the box. Alfred almost expects to see the dragon’s open jaw spitting forth flames, it looks so real. Handcrafted, obviously, to the last detail. He doesn’t know what to say. This is one of the most expensive things he’s ever seen, he knows it without even seeing a price tag, that this had to be way, way too much.

And Yao just wants to know if it suits him? Alfred almost touches the dragon but he can’t bring himself to interrupt its slumber. He just kneels there, looking at the silverwork, completely silent.

“I do love seeing you on your knees but you’re rarely this quiet, handsome.” Alfred doesn’t have a response, as Yao’s hand comes to a rest on his shoulder, and then he looks at the dragon. They’re silent for a moment. “Are you going to put it on?”

“I can’t put this on.” Alfred feels like he’s waking up from a slumber before he shifts and carefully closes the lid, rising up from his kneel and feeling Yao’s hand slide down until it’s cupping his elbow. “Yao, this is way too expensive for me to just have.”

Yao looks at the box between them and gently presses it back towards Alfred. “I want to give this to you. Will you accept it?”

“You know I can’t.” It’s too much. Both for the price, for the weight of what it means, and for how much Alfred finds himself wanting to hold on to it. The price both literal and figuratively is too much.  

“But you want it.” Yao touches Alfred’s cheek, stroking it lightly as he gently asks, “Do you not like getting gifts from your boyfriends?”

 _Is that what we are?_ Alfred doesn’t ask, but instead looks down at the black box, almost able to see the dragon hidden inside. “I’ve never gotten anything like this from anyone.” He wasn’t sure if he would’ve been as tempted to take it from them as he was now. He holds back out the box, and Yao finally takes it.

“Can you at least wear it for me so I can see how it looks?”

“Okay.” He agrees to that, but somehow that turns into him needing to change into one of the silk shirts Yao bought, and he’s shocked by how well it fits, how nicely it lays, and how it’s not too unlike what he wears on assignments when he needs to dress nicely. The blue makes his eyes brighter, and he finds himself sitting on his bed as Yao presses the clip on the necklace closed behind him.

Alfred’s surprised to look down and actually see the dragon and feel how weightless it manages to be. He’s tempted to sit on his fingers, but then Yao asks him how it feels and he lets himself indulge for a moment. Each part of the dragon is a different texture, and each inch of it fits nicely into his palm, and he can’t find the words. It’s beautifully made is all he can finally say to Yao when he asks what he thinks.

“I’m glad you like it,” Yao says, and Alfred realizes he’s been tricked. There’s no way he wants to take this off, and Yao knew he would feel like that. Alfred’s face betrays his annoyance and Yao kisses his nose, his cheeks, and then says, “I love that you like it,” before kissing him.

When Yao pulls back, Alfred has one lingering concern. “Please tell me you didn’t get this made especially this for me.”

“You want me to lie to you?”

Alfred closes his eyes, sighs, “Don’t ever tell me how much this cost.”

Yao kisses his hand. “You’re bossy today.”

“Yao…”

“Let’s go. You wouldn’t want to be late meeting Bonnefoy.”

* * *

 

Yao takes him because of course he does. He leaves Alfred with a kiss and splits off to go find his own dinner, claiming that he has connections in the district. Looking at all the fancy restaurants, fancy people, Alfred doesn’t doubt it. He almost feels like he doesn’t belong but he squares up. He can just pretend this is an assignment. He’s going to meet up with a source and get some information.

He lets himself keep that in mind until he gets to the maitre d who goes, “Reservation?”

“Bonnefoy?” comes out more like a question than a statement, before the sir nods and summons someone to escort him to the back of the restaurant. They’re not even near a window, but as he steps up on the platform the table is on, he gets it. They’ve a first class view of the whole place so what’s the point of windows?

“Alfred,” Francis says, and his voice is as friendly as ever. “Look at you~”

“Hey, Francis.” He sits down and the person who lead him to Francis offers him a menu. Alfred doesn’t open it and they step away. “This place is really nice.” He looks around more from the small chandeliers throughout the room all arranged so that they lead back to the central one at the largest tables in the place, where he can spot several politicians and women who are decidedly _not_ their wives. “It looks nice, anyway.”

Francis laughs, delightedly saying, “Direct as always, Alfred. I do love that about you. I figured this would be a nice place to celebrate your 21st birthday.”

Alfred looks around, and can’t help but think that this place suits Francis more than it could ever suit him. He looks back at Francis and smiles though, because Francis tried, and he appreciates it. “Thank you.”

Alfred has his menu opened and is almost overwhelmed by all the choices. Normally he’d be worried about the prices, freaking out over how they’re not even _listed_ on the menu, but Yao has given him more than enough to live on for a good long while. He just relaxes and goes with the first thing that catches his eye, and glances at Francis who is looking at his phone on the table before smiling at Alfred now and again. When the server comes and Alfred’s placed his order and Francis asks for wine to be bought out, Alfred’s still waiting on what Francis obviously wants to say.

Francis doesn’t keep him waiting much longer.

Francis glances down at his phone, stares at his water glass and then looks at Alfred.

“How much do you know about Wang Yao and Cháng Chéng Cuisine?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are appreciated, kudos are love, and I can be found on [twitter or ](https://twitter.com/keiimos)[tumblr](https://keiimos.com/)! 
> 
> Also shoutout (as always) to Izzy for her feedback! 
> 
> Ciao, 
> 
> Sammya Kei


	12. tempest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this an early Christmas gift from me to you.

“What do you mean?”

Francis adjusts his jacket’s collar, and then hair, and he’s obviously _stalling_ . Why does Francis feel like he needs to stall? The server returns and Francis buys time by sampling the wine, giving compliments to the server as she giggles. She then pours them both a glass and leaves the bottle on the table for them. Alfred knows he must look annoyed, impatient as he waits through it all. His back is sore from earlier, and the tension in his body isn’t _helping_ with that whatsoever.

Francis looks at him after she leaves. His fingers trace along the stem of his glass as he speaks carefully. “I’m asking because I’m finding it difficult to figure out Wang's motives. What game he is playing at.”

“What do you mean _game_?” Alfred lets the impatience hang heavy on his words as he tries to figure out what Francis is even _talking_ about. “What are you talking about?

“Alfred… do you read the financial news often?”

“Not really.”

Francis tilts his glass, and then looks up at him beneath blond eyelashes. “Your lover’s company just bought a company we were after…  I guess he couldn’t handle the threat of competition. So all things considered, I find myself curious about what he’s thinking…”

Alfred just stares at him. During his time with Francis they’d never really discussed specifics of his company, what he did with Arthur, any of that. But he does know about Yao’s family’s company. At Yao’s house a week, or so ago, he had mentioned that his brother ran it. That he had been robbed of his birthright. Considering that, how could Yao have any say in what the company did? More importantly— why is Francis telling him this? How does anything that Yao and Francis’s companies do or don’t do have _anything_ to do with him?

It feels like he’s only getting pieces of a complicated story, a history that he should know about but doesn’t. Each time he thinks he finally has a grasp on what the story is, something new comes up and he has to reorient himself.

Alfred looks down at the wine that he’s not legally allowed to drink until midnight. He looks around the showy, dazzling restaurant Francis has bought him to. A world that Alfred doesn’t fit into so neatly, nicely like Francis does. But… he could see Yao here and he knows if it were Yao sitting across from him he wouldn’t feel so off centered, off balanced. That Yao during the course of their relationship thus far has tried to deal with him honestly, make him feel comfortable. He touches a finger to the dragon underneath his shirt and takes a sip of the wine.

Alfred looks at Francis whose smile seems thinner now, worn down at the edges. He wonders what he looks like, sounds like, as he asks, “What does that have to do with me?”

Francis hesitates as they look at each other for a long moment. Alfred wonders why Francis is stalling as he stops looking at Alfred directly. They had fun together in the past, and yet from the moment Alfred came into the building, anxiety has been building up at the wrongness of it all. He wonders if Francis can sense that as well.

Eventually Francis looks up and gives Alfred a wistful look. “Absolutely nothing, I suppose. I was just curious if you knew anything but you don’t seem to know… that’s fine. After all, despite my friendship with Yao, I do know that we do hold a rather lot close to our hearts.”

Alfred doesn’t know what to say to that, how to answer that look. Clearly, Francis is lying because it has to have something to do with him. Yet, that look, that almost regretful look has him looking away with a frown. Francis had said that it was alright at the time, but now Alfred wonders if he hurt Francis by breaking off their arrangement to be with Yao. Or if the history between Yao and Francis is causing him pain.

“Don’t look so down, Alfred,” Francis says, failing to lighten the mood. Alfred wants to say the same to him. Francis looks miserable even as he continues trying to salvage the situation. “It doesn’t suit you. I apologize if I’ve made you uncomfortable, but let’s celebrate your birthday properly, shall we?”

“Francis.” Francis knows that neither of them are going to be able to relax, to celebrate. Alfred doesn’t feel like going through the motions. He wants to leave. Alfred looks into Francis’s eyes, and sees that he’s closed a door with his next words. “Thank you for everything but I’m going to go home.”

Francis gets up as Alfred rises, his expression shifting toward a comfortable blankness, a polite mask. “Of course. I can drive you—”

“No, I’ll be fine getting back.” Yao’s still probably in the area, right? Alfred will have him take him home because he can’t get in a car with Francis. He feels like he’s taking a side, a stance, and he doesn’t even know what’s at stake. It’s not fair.

Alfred doesn’t like being in the middle of a game without knowing the rules.

Francis pauses, fingers on the back of his chair. He looks shaken again, but he hides it well as he sits back down. “Of course… I do apologize for upsetting you.”

“It’s… okay.” It’s not, and he knows Francis knows it’s not, but they say goodbye and Alfred walks back out— unable to feel anything close to satisfaction.

* * *

 

He finds Yao at a quiet Chinese-style restaurant tucked on a side street not to far from where he was with Francis. He pauses in the aisle, phone still warm from his call to Yao and just looks at him in the booth. The dragon around his neck is heavy and he ends up touching fingers to it as if to calm it, calm himself.

Yao has two buttons at his neck undone. He has loosened his tie just enough to let himself breathe. His jacket is on the chair behind him. There’s a glass bottle in his hand, and he’s gently sliding his fingers along the neck. His hair is caught up in a ponytail and he looks thoughtful in profile.

He hasn’t noticed Alfred yet.  

Alfred doesn’t doubt that to an outsider his own looks catch attention. Brown skin, blonde hair, blue eyes— he knows from years of experience that he draws attention for his looks. He knows that much of the attention he attracts comes from being friendly, cheerful. He has a unique ability to enter a room and walk out with several numbers, and even more new friends. Even when he was not his best in the wake of his parents death— he still had that charm.

Yet looking at Yao, he feels something like awe. Respect.

Yao looks regal, and Alfred can’t help but feel like he’s out of his league.

He’s thinking about just catching the bus home when Yao notices him and smiles at him.

It’s just Yao.

It’s only the man he knows that loves cartoons, who has a keychain with a Hello Kitty charm, and who spends his downtime playing DS games like Cooking Mama.

It was Yao who said he wanted him first, and though it’s so strange — scary even — Alfred knows without a doubt that he wants Yao just as much.

“Hey,” Alfred says as he settles down in the booth across from Yao.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon, handsome.” There’s an understated worry, concern in Yao’s voice and Alfred doesn’t know how to respond to that at first. All he knew when he stepped out of that restaurant and picked up his phone was that he wanted to see Yao. That if something is going on he trusts that Yao won’t lie to him.

And if Yao does… he isn’t who Alfred thought he was.

Yao’s voice is soft as he asks, “What’s on your mind?”

Where does Alfred even begin? How to even start unpacking everything? He looks at the bottle of Chinese beer in Yao’s hand, failing to understand the script but recognizing it as a brand Yao keeps in his fridge at home.

“Did Bonnefoy do something to upset you?”

Alfred keeps looking at the bottle. “What did you go to China last week to do?”

“I had to handle business with my younger brother.”

“What kind of business?”

Yao doesn’t answer. Alfred looks up and notices Yao is studying him, like he used to at the club. As if he can find out more from reading Alfred’s body language than from what he is or isn’t saying.

Alfred studies him in return. Yao is tired, Alfred can tell that just by looking at the few strands of hair escaping from his ponytail. Alfred looks at his face, his eyes, and he notices for the first time the dark smudges underneath Yao’s eyes that weren’t there last week.

A waitress comes up, and Yao gives a quick order in Mandarin, smiling briefly at her. She turns to Alfred, and switches to English to ask what he’d like to drink and if she can get him a menu. Her appearance breaks the silence, and Alfred looks down as she slides another menu on the table. There’s already one in front of Yao but it’s all Chinese. He asks for a coke and she smiles at him.

“Do you come here a lot?” Alfred asks as she walks away, calling back to the kitchen.

“From time to time… I like to make sure things are running properly, after all.”

Alfred looks down at the menu, and then back at Yao. “Does your family own this place?”

“Yes.” Yao raises his beer bottle to his lips, and pauses before drinking from it. “What exactly did you and Bonnefoy talk about, Alfred?”

The waitress stops by with his coke, setting it down as she goes to greet some newcomers. Alfred stares at the sweat dripping down. What did he and Bonnefoy talk about? Mostly, “You,” and now Alfred can put a name for why he felt so upset. He had felt like he was being attacked. Being blamed for something he had nothing to do with. As if Yao’s _crimes_ , activities, have become his responsibility. That’s a heavy burden that he hasn’t agreed to carry.

“For you to be this quiet… he must have upset you greatly. I’m surprised. Francis Bonnefoy is usually the more tactful of those two.”

The other one being…  “Arthur is more rude, yeah.”

“Do I need to have a talk with Bonnefoy?”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles, Yao. I just would like to know what I’m walking into in the future.” Yao is quiet, and Alfred expands on that. “He asked me how much I knew about you and your family’s company. He wanted to know if I knew that last week you had bought a company his had been wanting to buy.”

“I’m sorry that he would bring up such matters to you. I wouldn’t have expected that from him.”

Alfred agrees. Francis had always been the gentleman, always polite, caring, and fun during their time together. Alfred had only seen him upset less than a handful of times. This… he must have been shaken to have bought that subject up to Alfred. He had been seeking answers that Alfred didn’t have.

Should Alfred have them? He touches the dragon, hidden by his shirt, close to his heart and looks at Yao. Looks at those smudges underneath his eyes. The hair escaping from his ponytail. The way his fingers are tight on his beer. Both Yao and Francis look the worst from the wear from whatever happened last week between their companies.

Alfred asks Yao once more, “What business did you do last week?”

Yao answers him this time. “I helped maintain my family’s legacy, protecting our interests from outsiders.”

“I thought your brother ran the company.”

“He does, but I do have a sizeable amount of power in the company. There are certain things that he cannot do because of the circumstances of his birth.”

Alfred doesn’t say anything, just waits for Yao to explain further.

“Kiku is the result of an affair my mother had with a Japanese businessman. Such a birth carries certain stigmas for those who know the truth. Not many do but those who _do_ often refuse to deal with him. Sometimes I’m required to put in an appearance to show my support and acknowledgement of him as the owner.”

“But you don’t support him.” Alfred remembered that much from their talk the other day. “He stole the position from you, right?”

Yao shrugged. “Regardless… I still must keep up appearances.”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“Does that answer your question?”

Does it? Alfred thinks for a moment and finally says, “I guess it does.”

Yao gives him a weak smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

Alfred looks down at the menu. “Can we get our food to go? You look exhausted.”

“Are you worried about me, handsome?”

Alfred looks at Yao, thinking about how that’s such a ridiculous question. Yao looks as if a feather could knock him over. Yao looks fragile and all Alfred wants to do is stay with him until he looks better. Until whatever storm is brewing, whatever the hell is going on with Francis and Arthur sorts itself out. He doesn’t say anything, letting Yao’s words serve as his answer.

Yao laughs. “We can get our food to go. My place or yours?”

“Mine.”

* * *

 

The apartment is empty when they arrive and Alfred’s grateful for that. He gathers up some clothes for Yao to change into and is gifted with a small smile, and Yao asking, “Maybe I should just bring some outfits over for when I spend the night? You should do the same for my place too.”

“Maybe.” Alfred doesn’t wanna commit to that, anything, until they’ve talked properly. His silence doesn’t go unnoticed. He can see Yao pausing, holding back from speaking on it until they’re both in his bed, takeout containers spread out before them and his TV playing a movie quietly.

Yao looks better once they’ve eaten their way through half the food in near silence. He sets aside his rice and touches a hand to Alfred’s knee.

“You’ve met Kirkland, correct?”

“Yeah… He warned me not to break Francis’s heart.” All things considered, Alfred feels like he might have. He keeps seeing that wistful look on Francis’s face, and feels guilt anew.

“That’s not at all surprising given their friendship.”

“ _Friendship_ isn’t the word I’d use for them.” Alfred can’t help but recall the first and only meeting he’d had with Arthur. Francis was clearly in love with him and Arthur had been so clearly oblivious to it. Now that Alfred wasn’t there to distract Francis maybe they had moved past that?

“You’re always so direct… yes, I wouldn’t call it merely a _friendship_ but there have been no official statements made on the matter— and considering Bonnefoy was so recently with you, I doubt there was anything unofficial about them either. Francis Bonnefoy isn’t that type of man.” Yao falls quiet, and Alfred lets him gather his thoughts as he closes some of the containers. “I’ve told you a bit about my mother before. She has four children… myself, Kiku, Mei, and Leon. After me and Mei’s father died, she married Duncan Miller. He is Leon’s father and Arthur Kirkland’s older brother. Arthur Kirkland has thus been involved with our family for quite some time…”

“He’s Leon uncle.” It is barely a sentence, barely a question as he holds puzzle pieces up to try and determine where they best fit. “You don’t like him.”

“I don’t believe Kirkland is a huge fan of me, either. I’d like to leave personal grudges aside, but his upstart of a company attempted to buy out one of our company’s competitors. I had to step in to prevent the sale.” Yao rubs his cheeks and then looks at Alfred for the first time since he set aside his rice. “We had a disagreement that left quite a few feeling wronged. As Kirkland’s business partner and friend, I suppose Bonnefoy is upset as well.”

“He wanted to know what games you were playing at… by letting me meet with him.”

There is clear anger in Yao’s voice as he looks away from Alfred. “I wouldn’t ever use _you_ in any sort of game… I don’t play games like he and Kirkland are prone to.”

“Hey.” Yao looks at him, pure frustration coming off him in waves, and Alfred wants to help resolve that if he can. “I know you wouldn’t use me like that.” Looking at Yao, he’s more steady, sure than he was even an hour ago. It’s incredible how calming he finds him even when things are chaotic around them.

Yao relaxes. “I’m glad you know that. I would have told you all this beforehand but I didn’t think it relevant. I’m sorry.”

Alfred shrugs. “At least I know now!”

Yao presses his thumb against the corner of Alfred’s lips. Alfred just looks at him as he smiles. “Good, there’s the smile I love.” Before Alfred can even respond to that, Yao looks at the containers on the bed and says, “Let’s put these up.”

 _There’s the smile I love_.

Alfred hears that sentence, sees that fond smile on Yao’s face lingering on in his head as he helps put the food up in the fridge and they return to his room. He settles his phone on the charger and plugs in Yao’s as well. He then turns off the overhead light and looks at Yao in the softer light of his bedside lamp.

That fragileness from earlier is still there, hidden by Yao’s good mood, but Alfred can tell how tired he is from the way he’s nearly melting into Alfred’s mattress. It’s been a long day of play, stress, and whatnot. Sleep will do them both good so Alfred turns out the light and holds back on asking Yao, _What else do you love about me?_

Alfred tucks his glasses on the nightstand and then sees a blurry Yao reaching out for him, so he willingly tucks himself along the curve of his body. Yao’s fingers are in his hair and he relaxes, nearly asleep until he feels Yao shift away for a moment. He grumbles about that and gets rewarded with a kiss for the trouble and a quiet, “Happy Birthday, handsome,” as he slips into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments feed my ego, kudos make me smile, and you can check [ or ](https://twitter.com/keiimos)[my tumblr](https://keiimos.com/) for when I'll update next!
> 
> I usually post an announcement on twitter when I'm working on an update and I usually share snippets of the fics I'm working on. More importantly, I often host polls to see what my followers most wanna see me update the most! 
> 
> Anyway, I'll be posting my yearly review of my fanfics on tumblr to highlight what I liked/didn't like about my writing soon! 
> 
> Merry Christmas and have a Happy New Year.  
> -SK


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